


There's No Place Like Home For Science

by Wawa_Girl



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Dork, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Carlos is a scientist, Cecil is a Dork, Dorks in Love, Fear, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Near Death Experience, Post 70B - Review, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, cuteness, post desert otherworld, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wawa_Girl/pseuds/Wawa_Girl
Summary: Cecil wanted to comply, he truly did. Carlos seemed so desperate and sad and afraid, but it was out of his control. He wished he could speak well enough to apologize."Cecil! CECIL!"And then everything went black."Press 4 if you need to report a missing venomous pet," spoke the automated line on the other end of Carlos' phone from its abandoned spot on the wooden floor.
  "Press 85 to know the location of Night Vale's newly invisible and non-functioning hospital."





	

"Mmm. Something smells good."

Carlos smiled at the sound of his boyfriend's voice coming from the entrance of their apartment.

"Thanks! It's...coming along..." he called back from the kitchen.

The scientist was in the process of stirring a large, overflowing dish of pasta, alternating between sprinkling in assorted dirt-covered spices and squinting at the Night Vale cook book open on the counter that transformed into a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_  every time he turned his head.

It was frustrating. Carlos considered himself a decent cook, and Cecil never had a complaint to share about the meals he prepared, but he very much wanted to successfully make a Night Vale recipe for them to enjoy together.

He dipped his tongue onto the spoon for a small taste test. "Hmm," he said to himself, either in satisfaction or confusion. The scientist wasn't quite sure. Did the book say "3 cups of pig snouts" or 30 cups? There was a sauce stain on the number.

If that _was_  a sauce stain.

"Want to help set the table? And...maybe read the rest of this to me before it changes back into a Dickens novel?"

"Sure! In a minute. I'm just going through the mail," Cecil called back to him from the living room, flipping through the various envelopes and other articles of mail spread out on the hand-carved table beside their door, eager to head to the kitchen to have dinner with his sweet and talented boyfriend and listen to him talk about his exciting day of science. He had missed that routine.

"Water bill, heating bill, nightmare erasure bill, reeducation bill..." Cecil muttered off each piece as his eyes glazed over them. "Ooh, a coupon for Big Rico's...that expired exactly one decade ago today," Cecil finished in disappointment. "Oh, Carlos, your magazine subscription from the Museum of Forbidden Technologies is here!"

"Great! Thank you!" Carlos answered, turning off the stove before the contents of the pot burnt or grew any extra parts. "I really liked the weather today. It was very pretty, in an ominous, melancholy sense," he commented while pouring the growing noodles into two bowls. "And I didn't need to hold my breath wondering if you were going to be okay while it played. I can't remember the last time the introduction to the weather wasn't right before some dangerous catastrophe began taking place--" Carlos kept on talking until his sentence was interrupted by an interjection in the other room.

_"Ouch!"_

Carlos abruptly looked up from his task, concerned. "Cecil? You okay?"

It was common for their sentient, mahogany bookcase to reach out and poke either of them as a "welcome home." _'It probably poked him in the shoulder again,'_  Carlos thought as he washed his hands, though his concern was raised when there was no audible response from Cecil. Instead he heard heavy breathing and a loud thud.

Carlos presumed it to be nothing more than the Faceless Old Woman in their closet, tossing and breaking their still unpacked boxes of fragile items, but decided to investigate for himself to calm his nerves.

"Cecil? Dinner's pretty much ready. Thanks for helping me set the table," the scientist teased as he walked into the living room in search of his mysteriously quiet boyfriend. "Cecil?" he asked confused at the seemingly empty room before stepping in farther and letting out a horrified shriek.

"CECIL!"

The radio host was lying on the floor a few feet away from their sofa, gasping, sweating, clutching at his throat and shaking violently. At the sound of Carlos' scream he appeared to try to speak but no words came forth from his mouth. Nothing but rough chokes and desperate, painful gasps.

"Cecil! What happened?!" Carlos managed to blurt out, falling down to kneel by Cecil's body, touching his cheek with one hand. The rainbow of colors in the man's tattoos were draining to a sickly gray. "What's going on? What wrong?!" the scientist instinctively asked, before his brain finally reached the very obvious scientific understanding that Cecil was physically unable to answer him and needed help immediately. Questions would need to wait. "Don't worry, Cecil, just hang on!" Carlos said in a panic and jumped to grab his phone to call for help, before remembering that he could yell for help into any hidden microphone or camera located in their apartment.

"HELP! 911! Secret Police! Faceless Old Woman! Somebody! Cecil needs help! He can't breathe! He needs--I--I don't know what happened, he--" Carlos hollered throughout their living room and out their second story windows, stopping when he saw the bottom of Cecil's left leg. It was red and swollen, with a large mark on it.

A bite mark.

His eyes fell on the mail table and noticed the medium-sized brown box with a chewed through hole in the bottom.

"Oh no," he whispered and dashed right back to Cecil's side. "Medical emergency! Venomous bite! Please help!"

This was bad. Carlos was a scientist, not a doctor, and it had been years since he used any of his minimal medical training, as medicine was so much different in Night Vale. "Normal" humans had such different anatomies, Cecil included. Was his blood flow different? Was the venom of their creatures different? He hadn't even gotten a look at the creature that bit him; how was he to know what was to do? This bite was clearly lethal and precious time was going by. He tried not to move the gasping and convulsing man and kept calling for help. He wouldn't be able to lift Cecil on his own, even if it was a safe thing to do.

"911! Dammit!" he screamed and decided again to dial for help. "Don't worry, Cecil, you're going to be okay. You are, you are..." Carlos said as he caressed his boyfriend's cheek and waited for the wretched phone to stop screeching.

Did _everybody_  in Night Vale suddenly vanish?! Did every citizen go deaf at the _worst possible time_?!

"Car...Carlos, I...I...Car..." Cecil tried to speak as his throat was closing up. He was growing weaker, growing colder, feeling like he was on the brink of death as his eyes were drooping shut. His leg was going numb and the pain was slowly leaving him, being replaced with a strong need to sleep. "Car--" Cecil attempted to say his boyfriend's name a final time before relaxing and closing his eyes.

"Cecil, no!" Carlos shouted, almost dropping the phone that was wailing recorded instructions regarding what numbers to press for several _non-emergency_  situations. "Cecil, don't close your eyes, please! Keep them open! Cecil, you can't! Stop!" Carlos pleaded with tears in his eyes. He was _not_  about to watch his boyfriend die right in front of his eyes on their own floor. He wouldn't!

Cecil faintly heard Carlos' frantic orders, trying and failing to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. It just wasn't possible anymore. He was so tired, so weak. They needed to close. They wouldn't stay open if he sacrificed his third eye and many future years off his life to the void. This was happening. He was going to...was he dying? What did death feel like?

All he knew was that everything was becoming very dark.

"Cecil, please, you can do it! Stay awake! Talk to me! Try! Just a few minutes!" Carlos was crying now, tears falling onto Cecil's cold arms. He didn't honestly know if it would be a few minutes or a few hours before any help arrived. Time wasn't real, but he could tell they didn't have enough of it. If no one helped them soon Cecil would surely die. Something _had_  to be done.

He'd since dropped the phone. It was no use. How was he going to save Cecil himself? He wasn't strong enough to carry him, and wouldn't even know where to go.

Suddenly Cecil's phone started ringing in his pocket, and Carlos didn't hesitate to dive and grab it, answering without bothering to check the name or person-specified emoji on the caller ID.

"Hello?! Cecil, stay with me! Cecil, no, no, don't!"

The last thing Cecil saw out of his blurry eyes, before his heavy eyelids closed over them, was Carlos holding a phone to his ear and screaming at him _not_  to close his eyes.

Cecil wanted to comply, he truly did. Carlos seemed so desperate and _sad_  and afraid, but it was out of his control. He wished he could speak well enough to apologize.

"Cecil!  _CECIL!_ "

And then everything went black.

 _"Press 4 if you need to report a missing venomous pet,"_  spoke the automated line on the other end of Carlos' phone from its abandoned spot on the wooden floor.

_"Press 85 to know the location of Night Vale's newly invisible and non-functioning hospital."_

  
**********

  
"I think he's waking up."

"Cecil? Cecil, honey? Can you hear me?"

The man slowly coming back into consciousness blinked. Blinked several lazy blinks, almost falling back into slumber before forcing himself awake at the sound of many voices.

"Oho, goodie! He's back! Hallelujah!"

"Shh."

"Cecil? It's okay, sweetie, it's me. You're okay. You're gonna be okay. Can you hear me?"

There were undoubtedly three distinct, easily identifiable voices surrounding him.

Well, it was possible there was only one person taking on multiple voices and having a conversation with themselves. Or a non-corporeal being whispering in his ear, imitating the voices of people he knew. Maybe the conclusion that there were three people speaking in the room was not so doubtless, but the groggy radio host thought it to be the most likely one.

One voice was friendly and sweet, one was particularly annoying, and the one closest to him the most welcome and comforting of all.

"Mmm...Carlos?" Cecil finally spoke, his voice much more hoarse than usual. It hurt to talk. He thought perhaps he shouldn't do that, but couldn't help himself as he opened his tired eyes and the three people around him came into focus. "Carlos?"

Carlos breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, taking Cecil's hand between two of his own from where he was crouched to the right side of their bed. The bed where Cecil lay, comfortable and warm. Comfortable minus the heavy fatigue, extremely dry throat, and searing pain shooting up his left hip.

"I'm right here, Ceec. I'm here, honey," Carlos spoke gently, releasing his boyfriend of any doubts.

"Thank the mighty glow cloud he's alright," said Dana.

"You can say that again! And thank every single fraction of the underground world government!"

Cecil cringed slightly at the sound of Steve's voice, wondering what was going on. Was he taken in for sudden reeducation? Was it serious enough to warrant so many people watching him and worrying for his well-being?

"What...what happened?" Cecil asked Carlos in a raspy voice, eyes closed, trying to be polite in the presence of unexpected company, regardless of the fact that he felt like death, and that one of their guests was his least favorite person.

Before Steve could enter into a long tangent about "what happened," Carlos swallowed a hard swallow and began to pull himself together to try to explain the horrors of the past...indecipherable amount of time, but what felt like three hours and twenty-six minutes, and according to the watch on Cecil's limp wrist was actually three hours and twenty-seven minutes. Carlos was close.

"You were bitten. By, uh, by a...a venomous creature. Highly venomous. A multi-eyed translucent shrimp, we think. They're only dangerous in Night Vale, from what I've studied, anyway," Carlos tried using his scientific lecture tone while recapping the situation in an attempt to keep the raw emotion out of his shaky voice. It wasn't working. "You couldn't breathe, or--or walk, and lost consciousness," he said thickly, and stroked Cecil's hair and cheek, never minding Steve and Dana watching.

That's when the memories of what took place began to resurface to the forefront of the radio host's mind.

Lifting up the normal-looking package on their mail table. Finding it light with nothing inside. The sharp pinch on his ankle. The choking. The cold. The fear. A panicked scientist yelling and pleading for him not to go to sleep. The desperate need to let go. Now it all made some semblance of sense.

And yet...he was alive, albeit not yet feeling fully alive and vibrant, with Carlos by his side.

"How...how did...I...? What...um...how...?" Cecil wasn't sure which question to ask first, his throat still aching and his words not coming as easily as normal.

"No one would answer when I called for help, and 911 took too long to be of any real assistance. That was when Steve called your phone," Carlos looked over at Steve as he got to that part in the story, "and I answered it, needing to talk to _somebody_  to help you."

Cecil looked surprised and weakly turned his head in the direction of Steve.

"I was driving home from work and decided to give you a call about another clue I spotted that might link to the real intentions of the super secret military government by the rec center. I think that they may actually be a cult of evil rabbits and hoped you could report on it during your show tomorrow. But when Carlos told me what was going on I drove straight to your apartment and helped him lift and carry you into my car to rush you to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex for Teddy Williams to try to save you--"

"Because of course the hospital isn't functioning right now and wasn't an option," Dana interrupted the local conspiracy theorist's lengthy story with a deadpan remark before smiling and gesturing for Steve to continue.

"Right! And when we got there and brought you into Teddy Williams' back exam room and told him what was wrong he was all..." Steve took a deep breath and prepared to launch into his best, most accurate impression of the doctor and bowling alley owner. "He was all like, 'I need you to schedule an appointment before you come barging in here with your life-or-death emergencies. I've got pins to clean, and parties to plan, and a miniature city to check on before they destroy this place. Now why don't you men take Cecil back home and I'll meet you there to look at him in thirty minutes or...whenever. Where do you live again?'" Steve repeated Teddy Williams' words verbatim in a bizarrely good imitation of the man.

"Right," Carlos sighed aggravated, his aggravation not directed at Steve but toward the memory of Teddy's lax behavior. "So we did that, carried you back outside, and realized Steve's car had been rendered non-existent for speeding and broken hub caps."

"We really should've taken your car," Steve said to Carlos.

"...and so we both carried you, well, mostly Steve carried you," Carlos corrected himself, "all the way back home and we waited for Teddy," Carlos explained, clearly having difficulty keeping the annoyance out of his tone.

"Carlos called me from the bowling alley," Dana finally spoke up. "Needed me to make sure Teddy did what he promised, showed up to your apartment in good time, and treated you properly. I didn't hesitate to help. Sometimes it pays to be mayor," she said with a smile and a wink to the radio host. "Plus, Carlos figured I would want to be here, and he was right. I was worried about you. We all were," said Dana, who was much used to the dangers of the town she helped govern, and yet was still extremely concerned for her friend who was in critical condition.

"Wow," Cecil finally breathed the single word, taking in what everyone was saying happened to him and what they did for him. He smiled and nodded at Dana, but his mind and eyes locked back on Steve, in shock and awe at the man's story of how he carried him to help and back with the physical strength Carlos lacked. The strength he had shown when he effortlessly lifted and threw the radio host's disturbed counterpart out that old oak door over a year ago, in protection of their hometown and defense of the little girl they both loved so dearly. And he'd used that same strength now to drop everything and save his life. Cecil didn't know how to react. He would have wondered if Steve was exaggerating the details of such a heroic tale if he hadn't glimpsed Carlos nodding along while Steve spoke, recalling every painful memory.

Eventually Carlos found his voice again. "Once Teddy Williams arrived, and after insisting on at least two cups of coffee before treating you," Carlos grumbled under his breath, "he sang some old folk song over your body, ripped your leg off, reattached it once he realized he removed the _wrong_  leg, ripped off the correct leg, sucked the venom out of your blood stream with his mouth, replaced all your blood with grape soda, spit into it, reattached your bad leg, and cleaned and dressed your bite wound," Carlos finished describing the horrific medical treatment he'd watched performed on his unconscious boyfriend. "It wasn't pretty, but, you know, I'm a scientist, so I could handle it," Carlos said softly and looked down, indicating he could barely handle it.

Cecil, however, didn't appear at all phased by the description of the treatment. It sounded like he was in a good, expert hands. Though he _was_  happy he was not awake to feel every painful second of the procedure.

" _And_  you're going to be okay now!" Dana said to raise spirits in the room, whether those spirits were interested or not.

"Yeah, yeah!" Carlos piped up and beamed at Cecil, though his smile wasn't quite full. "Yeah, Teddy Williams was sure that he had gotten out any and all dangerous poison--not poison, venom," Carlos corrected himself with a stutter as he spoke rapidly, as though speaking was the only thing keeping him from breaking. "He did all he needed to. Eventually the swelling stopped and your fever lowered to semi-normal, if you even have a 'normal' body temperature. Your chills also stopped, and the color and shape started returning to your tattoos. I mean, he left some ointment for your bite wound, and--and pain meds and...some medicinal bloodstones for high morale, and said he wants to check on you again on Friday, but he was confident you'd be okay. That...if you woke up by tomorrow you'd recover fine, and...and would live." Carlos gulped and looked into Cecil's eyes. "So you are. You'll recover. You're...you're gonna live," he said in a near whisper.

Cecil smiled at him as though they were alone, happy to hear this news. "Living sounds good," the professional speaker said and lolled his head to one side.

"Teddy left about an hour ago, as we perceived it, and we've all been waiting around to see when you'd wake up. Carlos wouldn't leave the room," Dana said, but not with the tiniest hint of mockery, only stating admirable facts. Carlos blushed and didn't deny it, and Cecil smiled and squeezed his hand tighter.

"Abby was here earlier, too. She was plenty worried about you, but she had to leave to get home to Janice about half an hour ago?" Steve questioned, unsure of the exact time his wife regrettably departed. "She'll call to see how you're feeling tomorrow."

Cecil nodded his head in understanding and Dana observed Carlos kiss his hairline and stroke his fingers lovingly.

"And...perhaps we should do the same," the young woman said and looked pointedly at Steve.

"Hmm?" Steve turned toward her confused. Dana kept her eyes locked on him and jerked her head in the direction of Cecil and Carlos, hoping he would understand what she meant and they could let the couple be alone together as she was sure they wanted.

"OH! Gotcha!" Steve shouted a smidgen louder than necessary, finally taking the hint. "We should go. So happy you didn't die, Cecil. That would've been a real bummer," Steve said and turned to leave with Dana.

"Yes, it's getting late. I'm so glad you're feeling better. I'll text you. Take care, Cecil. You, too, Carlos," Dana said to both men and prepared to make her exit.

"Okay, yeah, thank you! Thank you guys so much," Carlos tried to stutter out his expressions of gratitude toward their friends.

They waved goodbye and Cecil tried to gather all his energy before they were gone. "Thank you, Dana. And--and, Steve?" Cecil called to his brother-in-law while he was still in earshot.

"Yeah, Cecil?" Steve twisted back around.

Cecil looked down awkwardly, before looking back at Steve with a small, sheepish smile. "Thanks," he said softly, with as much sincerity and humility in him.

Steve beamed in return and resisted the urge to give the man in bed a crushing hug. "No problem! It was fun, in your typical 'race to survive in a life-or-death scenario' way. And you make really good coffee. Maybe we can discuss the secret underground cult of rabbits posing as the military government some other time. Buh-bye! And bye, Carlos!" the man chuckled and waved and Dana bid her last farewell for the evening as they both left the bedroom to give the couple some privacy.

"Hey, can I borrow your car for a ride home?" they heard Steve's voice ask Dana out in the hallway.

And then Cecil and Carlos were alone. As alone as they would ever be in their own bedroom, the Faceless Old Woman's passive observance notwithstanding.

Carlos turned back to their bed to face Cecil and petted his hair, grateful for the alone time with the man he loved and the chance to gather his thoughts. He dropped his pleasant smile and spoke seriously, though with consistent gentleness. "He really was a big help, you know," he told Cecil, thinking about all Steve had done despite the man's annoying qualities.

"No, I know," Cecil replied. "I mean, I believe it," he said respectfully, laying his head deeper into the pillow and thinking. Mostly thinking about Steve's actions and kindness. Also about how surprisingly bloodless the comforter and blankets surrounding him were, given the rather bloody procedure that was performed on him in the same bed less than an hour earlier. He twisted his face into a grimace and spoke.

"But  _seriously_? A cult of evil rabbits? Is that guy for real?" Cecil began complaining in his usual fashion whenever he was forced to hear his brother-in-law's crazy ideas. "What nonsense. Everybody knows it's a cult of frogs and lizards now occupying the former not-so-secret military base," Cecil stated with a roll of his eyes. He was _not_  talking about such a ridiculous conspiracy on the radio, poisoning his listeners' ears and minds. "I hope you didn't let him have _too_ many cups of our coffee."

Out of his view, Carlos bowed his head and entwined their fingers, using their hands as a shield for his face. He sniffed, catching Cecil's immediate attention.

"Carlos?" Cecil asked concerned when he turned his head and noticed his boyfriend's state. "Carlos, dear, what's wrong?" He gently brushed a few black strands of hair off his forehead, but his eyes remained hidden. From the sound of his breathing and sniffling, it was easy to deduce that the scientist was either crying or trying very hard to hold back tears. "I'm okay, sweetie. Are _you_  okay?" Cecil asked, wondering what his sweet boyfriend was thinking. "What is it?" he whispered and rubbed his thumb over his dark cheek.

Carlos swallowed and kept his head down. "You almost died," he answered with a single sentence, his voice trembling as he said the terrifying fact aloud.

The man in bed holding his boyfriend's hand relaxed and smiled. "Not the first time," his only response.

Carlos shot up his head immediately and glared at Cecil. "It's not funny," he growled almost in anger at the comment.

Cecil appeared confused and hurt by such a reaction. "It...wasn't supposed to be." He wasn't at all going for humor while Carlos was traumatized; only stating an accurate fact about himself and past near death experiences. It was what he did.

The distraught scientist sighed and sat up a little straighter from his crouched position that was putting a serious cramp in his leg. "I'm sorry, Cecil. I'm sorry," Carlos said, sounding extremely stressed as he ran a hand through his hair and wiped at his watery eyes with the back of his wrist. "It's just...I was so scared," Carlos admitted, using the most scientific term he could conjure up at the moment to accurately describe his feelings that night. Cecil didn't seem to have a problem with listening, staring with sympathetic eyes. "I was just cooking and you were _right_  in the living room just fine, and then you yelled and fell, and by the time I found you...you were already gasping and struggling for life, and I tried CPR after you passed out, but it was too late, and we were out of toothpaste and the proper bloodstones anyway, and I'm not a Night Vale doctor, and your body is so different from the general human anatomy and biology I've studied, and it was _awful_ , and I know a scientist is usually fine, but I _wasn't_. I wasn't fine, and I couldn't move you, and thought you might...die right there, and if Steve hadn't called I don't know what I would've done, and...and..." Carlos was speaking close to fifty miles per second, starting to hyperventilate after scientifically proving Murphy's Law.

"Carlos, Carlos, breathe," Cecil instructed, becoming worried of Carlos' anxiety. Though he understood it. He remembered how he felt when he thought Carlos had died at the hands of the tiny people of the miniature city at the bowling alley, or any of the other times Carlos' safety was on the line.

The Voice of the city gently lifted his boyfriend's chin. "Carlos, listen to me. I'm _okay_. Yes, I almost died, and phew, that's a scary thought, but I'm okay _now_ ," he emphasized. "And that's all that matters. I survived, I'm going to be fine now, _you_  said so," he reminded him. "These types of risky, life-threatening events are bound to happen to us just like everybody else on the planet. I've never met a single being who has lived a life entirely safe from harm. Especially those subscribed to a monthly delivery of venomous creatures."

Cecil didn't need to be told the source of his assailant. They had been receiving packages from Venom Box for weeks now, and were well aware of the threats posed by each box's contents. This was the first time, however, that the fresh products had gotten loose before Carlos had bravely flushed them down the toilet, saved some to take to his lab, and released the rest out onto the streets to be another citizen's problem.

Carlos was nodding and sniffing as Cecil, weak and tired, spoke the hard truths to make him feel better. "I know, I know," Carlos said, still clasping their hands tight. He felt so guilty. He had a pretty great inkling of where that box came from, despite the lack of any warning label, and yet didn't move it to safety or even warn his boyfriend when he came home, letting him fend for yourself while he was cooking. It seemed so selfish, but he knew voicing this would be pointless and Cecil wouldn't allow Carlos to feel guilty for anything other than purposefully picking up a poisonous insect and stabbing him in the ankle.

They both knew better for next time. Only the present and future were in their control now. Cecil looked utterly exhausted, and Carlos knew to end his pity party, standing up to tuck his boyfriend in. "You're right. I know you're right. You're alive now, and I couldn't be more happy about that fact," he said and ran his fingers through Cecil's hair while the other man smiled up at him in equal, silent gratitude. "And I know one thing for certain, we are cancelling that Death In a Box subscription A.S.A.P." the scientist insisted bitterly.

Cecil wrinkled his brow in confusion. "But...Carlos, we aren't subscribed to Death In a Box--oh, you mean Venom Box. Oh, Carlos, I wish we could, but it's official city law that once subscribed to Venom Box the recipient is subscribed for life. Whether they asked for the subscription in the first place or not," he explained dejected.

Carlos' face fell and took on another look of irritation. "Charming," he said under his breath, sarcasm dripping off every syllable.

"It's not really so bad," Cecil said while relaxing into the pillow Carlos was fluffing for him. "In fact, I believe I have a scheduled sponsor advertisement for Venom Box to read on the broadcast tomorrow. Perhaps I can talk about this little incident in the segment to spice it up. Give it a more personal touch relating our own experiences with the product. Excluding certain...nasty details, of course."

"Uh, you mean for you to read on the air _next_  week," Carlos corrected mid-fluff, hoping that Cecil had simply misspoke.

Cecil looked puzzled again. "Why? Was the rest of this week canceled? Or was there another weird lapse in time? Gee, how long _have_  I been out?" he asked the last question primarily to himself.

"Nooo," Carlos said with a chuckle and paused in fluffing the pillow. "I mean that you're not going to work tomorrow," he said like a parent informing a child, looking straight into his boyfriend's eyes to be sure he understood.

"What?" Cecil reacted with a laugh of his own at the outrageous idea.

"You need to rest," Carlos clarified and wordlessly asked Cecil through gesture if he could sit down on the end of the bed, mindful of his injury, and Cecil nodded. "Teddy Williams said that you need to stay home from work for at least a week, preferably two weeks, to properly heal and recover. And for once, I agree with his orders," Carlos explained and gently rubbed Cecil's good knee.

"An entire  _week_?" Cecil was appalled. Another vacation so soon? This was completely out-of-the-question. "I can't miss work for one day, let alone seven! Station Management would never stand for it. I'd be ritualistically fed to the librarians for supper. Or even worse, my job could be terminated," Cecil added horrified, starting to feel dizzy at the thought.

"Easy. Don't get worked up," Carlos said and helped him relax back into the bed, surprised by how much Cecil was even able to speak. "Cecil, you _can't_. You're too weak right now. You almost died today, Ceec, and you're going to follow the instructions of the only somewhat reputable doctor we know. I'm sure the station will allow you a short leave of absence under the circumstances. You were just granted a vacation last month, after all," Carlos said, reminding Cecil of his time visiting him in the desert otherworld and how that request had gone smoother than anticipated.

"Exactly," Cecil replied unconvinced. "I just had one. They're not going to allow me a second vacation this soon, especially not for something so average and minor."

"You almost lost your leg," the scientist stated in a deadpan tone. " _Twice_."

"And I would have found a way to live with that," Cecil said in a very accepting manner at the ever present possibility of losing a limb. "Though I am happy it was able to be saved. I'm rather fond of this leg. It does make getting around a relatively easy task," he admitted.

Carlos sighed before persisting, not willing to risk Cecil getting worse after his fortunate survival. "Honey..." he stopped to run a hand through his perfect hair in a nervous gesture. "I know you don't want to take any more time off, and I love how dedicated you are to your job. I can relate to that passion, of course, but for once, can't you _please_  put your well-being first _before_  your work?" Carlos asked in an attempt to appeal to Cecil's reasonable side. He knew it was buried inside him somewhere.

Cecil simply looked up at his loving boyfriend and bit his tongue, choosing not to argue that he _did_  put his well-being before his work when he applied for a vacation to visit Carlos in the desert otherworld. How that trip was absolutely vital to his emotional health and to their relationship. He'd never considered their month together as unimportant, unlike the aftermath of a measly near death experience.

"Please, Cecil?" Carlos continued with heartfelt desperation. "I'll call the station. You are not going to be fired." It astonished the scientist how Cecil truly didn't seem to understand that the main reason his show had so many listeners was because of his popularity. "Come on, I can be very persuasive, you know that," Carlos joked with an awkward wink and his boyfriend reacted as he hoped, giving Carlos the confidence to continue pleading his case. He looked serious once more, and Cecil thought he was trying not to cry. "This is important to me. I...I'm not going to risk you hurting yourself more...not risking losing you again after tonight," Carlos said softly between gulps while Cecil stared up at him and listened.

The idea of staying home the following day _was_  starting to sound more practical, especially with his throat feeling like sandpaper and legs like cinder blocks, Cecil thought while Carlos was giving him those sweet, hopeful eyes, and dammit, he _could_  be awfully persuasive when he wanted to be.

After another moment's hesitation, Cecil freed the scientist of his fears. "Okay. I'll stay home tomorrow," he gave in, and Carlos let out a sigh of relief and produced a grateful smile. "I guess some extra time off will be nice now that you're finally home," he conceded, before an annoying little fact popped into his brain. "Though I'm going to have a mountain of paperwork to fill out tomorrow if I'm going to receive a proper leave of absence for more than one day. That may wind up being worse than the bite."

"I'll take care of all that for you," Carlos assured while smoothing out the sides of the blankets. He wondered if there were any extra blankets in the closet that the Faceless Old Woman _hadn't_  shredded to pieces.

Cecil made a very obvious sound of amusement. "Pfft. Uhh..." The fatigued radio host had trouble keeping his eyebrows down and smirk hidden.

"What?" Carlos laughed back and tried not to look offended.

"Well...no offense, sweetheart, because I love you, and you're so talented and intelligent," Cecil prefaced before carefully explaining his opinions to his boyfriend in the least hurtful way his mind could muster. "But it is still a true as day fact that you are not a lifelong citizen," he delicately stated, "and I don't believe I've ever seen you fill out _one_  page of paperwork for...anything. Our end of date reports, our apartment lease..." Cecil listed off from memory all the times he'd done these tasks for his scientist. "And I've heard that it can be...difficult for those who aren't accustomed to the process." Cecil cleared his throat and bit his lip, hoping for Carlos to admit this job wasn't suited for him.

Carlos instead brushed off all concerns. "Come on, Cecil. I know enough about you and your job and this town to answer a few questions in written form," he assured his boyfriend. He was no longer the same outsider he was three years earlier, and just because he'd never filled out paperwork before didn't mean he would struggle and fail at it now. A scientist is always up for new challenges. "If I could handle living on my own for over a year in an uncharted desert dimension, with nothing but a lab coat, an eternally-charged cell phone, and pure scientific curiosity, then I think I can handle writing a few sheets of paper to help my healing boyfriend," he said with pride and tapped Cecil on the nose. "Once I find a way to acquire a legal writing utensil."

Just one error in a leave of absence form could result in terrifying consequences. Carlos may have been inexperienced, but Cecil was _tired_. Perhaps Carlos could do a better job with more energy and usable brain power. If he truly wanted to help, of course. "I really wouldn't mind writing them at home," Cecil said honestly. "It doesn't take much strenuous activity or anything..."

"Cecil, really, just let me."

The radio host and lifelong Night Vale citizen was skeptical, but decided to have faith in his boyfriend against all incalculable odds. "Sure. Okay, Carlos," Cecil agreed with a teasing roll of his eyes and rested back into the headrest.

"Good!" Carlos said, finally appearing comfortable and relaxed for the first time in hours, and resumed adjusting the bedspread. "I'll call the station in the morning, whenever morning comes, to explain why you aren't coming in to do the show," Carlos began detailing his plans for the next day to make both of them feel better. "I'll pick up the required forms to get you a week mini-vacation, fill them out at the lab, I'll call or text you if I have any questions, and then deliver them before I come home. Piece of cake. Hopefully I'll still have time to help the rest of my team with our apiology project, and run some personal tests on the creature that bit you. I tracked the rest of them down and smashed them with my danger meter. They should all be dead, but I want to get some of them under a microscope to see if there's an anti-venom I can invent for the future to reduce the need for such...iffy medical practices. Which would only work if we receive the exact same shipment next time, and if I was correct in the identification of the creature. I know I said I thought it was a multi-eyed, translucent shrimp, but it may actually have been a purplefish. Which are like silverfish, but purple. And a scientist is always self-correcting--Oh. I'm sorry, Cecil. Am I talking too much?" Carlos cut off his chattering when his eyes fell on Cecil's face and noticed the radio host peacefully resting with his eyes closed, possibly not appreciating a scientific summary at the moment. "Do you want to go back to sleep?" he quietly asked.

"No," Cecil mumbled, not opening his eyes. "No, I like it. Listening to you talk," he answered, blissfully letting himself escape into his boyfriend's oh-so-smart-sounding science speak while he fell into the arms of many sleep gods.

Carlos smiled down at the man who had just narrowly escaped death and was now calmly resting with no complaints. "Is there anything else you need that I can get you?" he asked in the hopes of being useful and making Cecil's first night recovering easier.

The man in bed perked up a bit at the question and opened his eyes, thinking and remembering something from when he arrived home. "Well, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit peckish. We never did get a chance to share that wonderfully-smelling dinner you were cooking, before disaster struck," Cecil suggested, hopeful at the prospect of enjoying a delicious, if not slightly cold, meal with Carlos in their bedroom together.

Carlos froze and his face fell at the request. "Oh. Uhh...about that," he said before regretfully explaining to his injured boyfriend what happened to their meal. "I'm sorry, Ceec, but...uh...while we were waiting for you to wake up, Steve kind of...had about...five bowls of pasta. And...the few leftovers...well, some of the last of the venomous creatures had crawled into the pots, making the food unsuitable for digestion. I had to throw it out. I'm sorry," Carlos apologized, wondering if he should have fibbed by saying that Teddy Williams had eaten their food instead of Steve. Especially when Cecil became noticeably more aggravated at the name.

 _'Perfect,'_ Cecil thought and heaved a long sigh, no longer looking so content and at peace, realizing how lousy this night was turning out to be.

The two thought they heard an old woman's laugh coming from an unseen corner of their bedroom, and the radio host replied to Carlos with his own sarcasm-coated word.

_"Neat."_

  
**********

  
_"Before the tour was set to begin, the school bus and all the children inside of it were sucked into a black hole just outside the blood stone factory, screaming as they were taken away to a place unknown. The two adult chaperones were sucked in with them. All vanished except for the bus driver. The bus driver, tall and blank-eyed, standing outside the vortex perfectly still, watching his cargo disappear. Watching as though these events were entirely routine and previously known. And that concludes our traffic report. I can remember a time when there were better traffic reports. A time with less black holes. A time with less field trips, less schools, and less children. Yes, it was a much better time, as the past always is. And now onto sports..."_

Rochelle frowned at the small lab radio as she placed on her rubber gloves and poked at the sedated bee on the tray in front of her, while the rest of the team was carrying in more boxes of sedated bees. Well, most of the team.

"Man, I really miss Cecil's broadcast whenever someone else fills in for him. Even Leonard Burton. He's just not the same," Dave said as he hauled in a crate of wasps from outside and Rochelle nodded in agreement.

"I know. He really drags on with his repetitive complaints. 'The sun is actually cold. It's cold and empty, and all is lost' and blah blah blah, we know it," Rochelle quoted the former Voice of Night Vale's only opening greeting in a mocking tone. She looked behind her at another fellow scientist, who was sitting alone near the back of the lab with his head down. "Wouldn't you agree, Carlos?"

"Hmm?" Carlos didn't look up from the paper he was squinting at, letting the cotton swab in his right hand drip orange sentient goo onto the white page. "Yeah, it is cold in here," he muttered distracted at Rochelle's comment.

Rochelle glanced back at everyone else who all shrugged, and approached Carlos' work desk with a friendly smile. "I heard about what happened to Cecil. That was really close. I'm glad he's okay," she said now standing next to him, causing Carlos to look at her for only a microsecond and gesture his hand in the direction of their supply cabinets. "Yeah, it's on the third shelf," he replied and continued trying to make sense of what he was reading.

The female scientist smirked and sparked an idea. "Although it could be argued that Leonard's _voice_  is far more attractive than Cecil's," she commented, finally resulting in the man she was speaking to shooting his head in her direction.

"What?!" Carlos nearly shrieked before seeing her bemused expression and hearing laughter erupting throughout the lab. He narrowed his eyes and smirked back. "Ha ha, cute joke. But not scientifically accurate and therefore not funny," he simply said smug and resumed reading.

She rolled her eyes and the faint laughter died down. "What are you working on back here? Inventory reports?" she questioned and leaned against a stool, wondering if they were finally getting new florence flasks after their old supply was confiscated by Night Vale High's marching band posing as government agents.

Carlos sat back and tiredly flipped through the enormous stack of papers set before him. "No," he sighed. "No, no, it's, uh, it's Cecil's leave of absence forms. He needs at least one week off work to recover, and I promised I'd fill them out for him. But honestly, I didn't know it would be so involved," he admitted, looking completely exasperated at what he was required to figure out and complete.

Rochelle pursed her lips, sympathetic of her teammate's distress. "I've heard those are a pain in the Bunsen burner. What do you have done so far?"

Silence and hesitation. He bit his lip and looked again at the question he was last pondering. Then the scientist quietly answered. "Name and address."

"That's it?" Stan asked, gathering beakers from the highest shelf as the others prepared to hook the bees and wasps up to several machines, realizing Carlos would likely not be assisting them in the day's experiment.

"Those were the only two I could instantly understand!" Carlos defended himself when even Rochelle was giving him a strange look. "And I'm still not one-hundred and eight percent sure those questions are literal and aren't instead looking for some more abstract answer," he second-guessed himself, his self-made ink staining his hands and lab coat.

Rochelle glanced at a question in the top corner of the sheet that was followed by a long, blank line. "'Employee's birth echo'," she read aloud. "What's a birth echo?"

"I don't _know_ ," Carlos gritted in frustration, having already spent an hour brainstorming what that could be. "And call me a coward, but I'm not fond of the idea of going to the library to find out," he admitted, his hand on his forehead.

"I think it might have something to do with the sky?" Dave took a guess, listening in on the conversation while swishing blue liquid back and forth in a cylinder beaker, not taking his eyes off the substance, his pupils following it hypnotically.

"'Please describe, in detail, the cloud formations on the day before your last vacation request?' I wasn't _here_ ," Carlos said after reading another puzzling requirement. "And I don't know why the clouds matter. I mean, scientifically they _matter_ , I know, but why are they relevant to this? The clouds hardly _move_  in Night Vale anyway."

"Yeah. They just stay in one place, almost like they're watching us..." a scientist who was standing in the corner said with a shudder, staring at the wall and holding a bee in his hand. The others didn't know what he was doing.

"It's asking for all this past family history. I mean _really_  far back. Great grandmother to the fiftieth power far back. Also blood types based on varying moods, and full pages of nothing but song lyrics. I don't know if that has to do with the weather, or personal music taste, or a memory test?" Carlos guessed, not mentioning to Rochelle the far too personal and intimate questions he'd skimmed on page 74. He hoped that Cecil didn't have to answer anything that private in past paperwork, though he knew chances were small of his hope affecting the facts.

He turned the stack to the last half dozen pages to reveal one with just a large blotch of...blood? Mucus? It was a dark purplish-red color splattered on the center of the page. "And what do I do with _this_? Or _this_?" he asked and showed the following page that had several blank lines except for the unnerving smiley faces along the margins. "I don't know what this is. Could it be left over from StrexCorp's time as management?" he wondered out loud.

"Or it could be based on the cutesy text messages you two send each other," Dave teased and the group laughed once again, Rochelle included. Carlos just grumbled.

"My phone...is _not_  data," he reminded them again, shaking the handheld communication device in front of their eyes from five yards away. "Except for when I specify it as data, then of course it is, and you are free to grab it before it scurries away," he scientifically clarified, and the others rolled their eyes and smirked at the memories of several gooey, romantic messages they observed between Cecil and Carlos whenever their leader left his phone lying around the lab unattended.

_"That concludes our community medical announcement on the local hospital's regaining of visibility and function after one month being out of order. Unfortunately the change came one day later than when our very own Community Radio host Cecil Palmer could have used the hospital's services, but ah well. We cannot change the past, nor should we ever hope to."_

Carlos sneered at the radio and sighed to Rochelle again. "I may be in trouble," the usually confident scientist confessed. "I need to complete and deliver these back to the radio station by five o'clock or Cecil will have to go back to work tomorrow, and I'm so lost," he said, feeling positively useless.

"Well you might be in luck if five o'clock comes later or not at all today," Stan suggested, looking out the window at the sun before reading the various equations and symbols blinking on the machine connected to the bee buzzing on the lab table.

Rochelle rested a hand on Carlos' shoulder in an act of comfort. "Why don't you just ask Cecil if he knows the answers to some of these?" she suggested, feeling equally at a loss of how to decipher the bizarre standards of paperwork in this town. Her last apartment lease forms had come with a list of trivia more apt for a game show about tropical fruit.

Carlos thought for a moment. It wasn't as though he hadn't considered giving his boyfriend a quick call and asking what in the name of science was up with his job. But his strong will not to disturb him, and stubbornness in wanting to prove to Cecil he could do this himself, were holding him back from dialing.

"I don't want to bother him." The orange liquidy matter on the paper making up Cecil's basic information was crawling away from where Carlos placed it forming letters and numbers. "He needs to rest, and if he thinks I'm too confused to handle this on my own he'll insist I bring the papers home so he can do it himself," he explained, well aware that he _was_  too confused, and running out of what they could only call the non-existent concept of time.

Rochelle nodded in understanding and started to move back to her team that was now two scientists short. "Well, good luck. I'd help more if I could," she said inching away before a thought occurred to her, and she debated with herself whether or not to say anything.

"Thanks. I'll manage. I can always call Dana and ask for her help since she did intern at the station years ago. And if I mathematically calculate how long each page should take..."

"Sure," Rochelle interrupted, "but, uh, I just thought...umm...wouldn't Station Management be able to tell the difference between your handwriting and Cecil's? Isn't it supposed to be written by him? Were you at all trying to imitate it?" she asked carefully, but Carlos had frozen and stopped listening after her first question.

"I...uhhh..."

Dave walked over to hand Rochelle her goggles and a bee, looking over Carlos' shoulder. "Also, it, uh, says right there in the corner to only use blue. Unless orange is the new blue around here," he joked nervously, and Carlos flung a handful of papers to the floor, slammed his head down on the desk, and gave a long, pained groan.

The two scientists backed away, mouthing apologies that Carlos couldn't see with his head buried, and resumed their apiology project by first trying to catch the bees that had gotten lose and were now flying freely in the lab, the buzzing only adding to Carlos' throbbing headache.

_"We've received word from Intern Wendell that we have lost another three and a half hours today, meaning that sunset should be sooner than previously scheduled. I remember a time when you really had to work for the sunset. Really had to earn that experience after a long, horrifying day..."_

At this announcement Carlos pried his head from his arms and peered at his phone, panicking even though he knew the time was less accurate than Cecil's watch at home.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt, he thought to himself, to send Cecil a quick text. Casually ask how he was feeling, throw out a random question feigning general scientific curiosity, and be able to write down what he says, this time locating some blue matter and remembering to copy Cecil's exact handwriting from one of Cecil's numerous love notes that were lying around the lab.

He truly did hate to disturb him on his day off after the previous night's trauma. Just a short, sweet, everyday message asking what he would do in the case of an inter-dimensional kitten invasion. Though knowing Cecil, the answer would probably be to squeal. Loudly.

"Z12KMZVL - - - BEES...BEES...BEES"

"The scanner is being...weird," Stan remarked as the insects continued to disconnect from their machines and swarm each individual scientist in the work station.

"Isn't it always?" Rochelle retorted, trying to swat at a bee nearing her ear before it turned invisible. "Carlos..." her voice trembled, seeing the expression on everyone else's faces as more bees lost their sedation and visibility.

"One second!" Carlos called out. "Or more."

"They're multiplying!"

"No, they're not! Put your glasses on!" the scientists shouted at one another through the increasingly loud buzzing while Carlos finished texting his #1 contact.

_"hey, how r u feeling? <3"_

_"hope i didn't wake you. i know ur phone tends to howl."_

After several minutes of loud buzzing, his scientists crying for help, and an overly nostalgic news segment about sunsets, Carlos' phone received a reply text.

_"no, you didn't wake me at all, dear Carlos. i'm feeling well, though still can't walk. just lying awake and recording in my dream journal. i haven't updated it since november. of 1963."_

_"how r u? how is science?"_

Carlos smiled before remembering things were _not_  going particularly well on his end and the reason for his text. _'Be casual, don't pressure him,'_ the scientist coached himself while a bee dove into his ink dish, singing country tunes and glaring orange eyes at him.

_"thats great. just take it easy"_

_"things are fine. Science is always fine"_

_"hey, u wouldn't happen to know ur birth echo, wouldu?"_

"We may need to evacuate!" The bees _were_  multiplying. Every person in the lab who was vision compromised had their respective lenses on now.

The bees were multiplying, and the were angry.

Or at least mildly miffed.

"We can't! We've reached our evacuation quota!"

A new text.

_"silly Carlos"_

_"no one is permitted to know their birth echo"_

"Carlos, we may need your help after all!" Rochelle shrieked and smashed a beaker at an invisible bee. It did not die.

"I'm--in a minute?" he cried while shielding his head from the bees with a not-umbrella - it was a far more scientific invention than an umbrella - and stared at his phone distraught.

 _"why do u ask?"_ The latest text read, followed by an emoji with its tongue sticking out.

 _"no reason"_ Carlos felt his fingers typing while at his wit's end. _"just curious science reasons. just science. dont worry about it."_

The clock on his phone read 4:57. Then again, it had read that for the past three hours and fifty eight minutes.

Carlos had still barely answered one question, and none of his ink even resembled the color blue, or Cecil's unique writing style.

And he didn't _care_  how may house hippos had lived and died in their current place of residence, no matter what pages demanded to know. And asked again and again and _again_  as if his first answer wasn't good enough.

 _Nothing_  was good enough for this town.

Nothing except the man this was for.

_"So let us all agree that driving anywhere is taboo and pretty much a bad idea for the rest of the week, okay, Listeners? This has been a sponsor ad from American Vehicles. All of them. Don't drive them."_

"CARLOS, HELP!!!"

"I--I...I..." he swiped the stack of pages to the floor and yanked some gray chunks of hair out of his temples.

"CARLOS, THE BEES!"

Yes, Carlos was in trouble.

He may have been repelling the stinging and multiplying insects around him, but he was in trouble.

_"I love you. ^_^"_

  
**********

  
The wheels of the car came to a halt as Dana pulled the lever to put it into neutral.

"Well, we're here," she said smiling over at the passenger next to her as they sat outside the radio station. "Next time don't wait so long to ask me for help. Sometimes I'm too busy, but sometimes I am not. You never know until you call, right? Today I was not," the young mayor stated while looking at a practically passed out scientist, his lab coat stained with honey and ink, his hands gripping over five dozen white pages, his eyes drifting open and shut as he'd done throughout the drive.

"Mmm. Yes...I know," Carlos answered and sat up, staring down at the forms that were the source of his mental exhaustion. Every line that was required to have something written or drawn on it did, all in some shade of blue, and nearly identical to the handwriting of whom the questions pertained. It was a miracle, Carlos would have exclaimed, if he still didn't hold on to the belief that all could be explained through science, an idea of his that was being challenged daily. "I know, thank you, thank you, thank you _so_  very, highly, very much, Dana. I didn't expect to have such difficulty. I underestimated the struggle when Cecil told me, and didn't want to burden you for the afternoon, especially after your help and visit last night, but...thanks," Carlos expressed his gratitude toward Dana a second day in a row.

"It's not a problem. Just remember, odd numbered pages aren't important, except for when they obviously are, doodles only need to be first grade level at best, and questions with a side-note threatening any errors with death are bluffing. The whole town may be afraid of Station Management, as we fear all things, but nobody is letting Cecil Palmer out of a job. Trust me," she informed him with a wink.

Carlos smiled down bashfully at Dana's relating ideas, embarrassed of his worry. "Right. I know. I got it now." He didn't fully get it, but he'd wait to worry about that during future paperwork trouble.

After his danger meter nearly exploded, Carlos had used his umbrella-looking shield to ward off the bees and make them leave the lab's work station, coating himself in honey and nectar in the process, putting an end to the commotion. His team calmed down and re-sedated their test subjects, placing them in plastic containers under the stove.

At a breaking point, and realizing his texts to Cecil were not going to solve his problem, Carlos called Dana for possible assistance and advice. Fortunately she wasn't too pre-occupied with her mayoral duties, taking a small vacation herself after the opera incident and continual assassination attempts, and was able to use her past community radio internship experience to know what Station Management wanted out of these forms, and her access to Night Vale's Hall of Records to look up Cecil's family history information that hadn't been destroyed. If Carlos hadn't been so stubborn and asked her for help sooner he'd still have much of his hair on his head and not in a dustpan on the lab floor.

"Out of humble curiosity, why didn't Cecil just fill these out at home today? I know he needs to rest, but he usually doesn't mind doing what needs to be done for work--"

"I was _trying_  to be a good boyfriend!" Carlos answered exasperated, tired of answering that question half a dozen times since noon.

When Dana's eyes widened slightly, not in fear but concern, Carlos looked apologetic for his outburst. "I'm sorry. Sorry for snapping. I'm very tired. I just--" he inhaled and exhaled steadily, before offering an honest, vulnerable explanation. "I kept him waiting for over a year, and then I was unable to help him last night, and...I just wanted to be able to do _something_  of value. I wanted to do this _one thing_  for him so he could rest," Carlos admitted, his voice quiet, visibly disappointed in himself for not even accomplishing that much.

Dana tapped her hand on the steering wheel twice, hard, causing the scientist to look in her direction. "He loves you," she simply said what every Night Vale resident of more than forty-eight hours knew, and Carlos smiled and nodded. "He doesn't expect you to be Super Scientist Boyfriend. It's okay. He loves you. And trust me, when I was an intern I was beyond mere confusion at these rules, too. We're often confused around here."

"Right. So, anything I need to know before I deliver these? No rituals required? Cecil won't be in trouble for having me drop them off in his place, right?"

"It should be fine. Friends and family and mute children deliver messages for employees all the time. As long as they think he wrote it," Dana looked behind her to see if she was being bugged. She was, and could do nothing about it. "You picked the forms up this morning and didn't lose any fingers?"

"Nope." Carlos held up both palms showing ten digits in tact, recalling his trip to the same building that morning.

He had waved to Leonard Burton through the recording booth window, who had shown up surprisingly early for his day as substitute radio host, insistent he would only be talking about the day's news, _not_  playing any mysterious tapes. Whatever that meant.

Carlos had approached Station Management' door, knocked, noticed it felt cold, stated his business, and had the pages practically shot in his face. He had begun walking away after counting twenty pages, and was surprised when sixty-five more followed, a new page every half second.

If he could do it then, he could do it now.

"Just slide all of the papers under Station Management's door, no other doors, and don't smudge the ink," Dana advised all she felt Carlos needed to know. "Don't make eye contact, you don't have to speak--"

"They--they're going to open the door?" Carlos stuttered out, his knees buckling at the idea.

"No, it's unlikely. The doors are almost always closed. It'll probably go as smoothly as earlier. I was only being cautious. No eye contact. Speaking is allowed but not necessary, and don't...faint."

Carlos scrunched up his face, indignant. "I don't faint."

"Cecil told me you tend to faint--"

"It was my first week in town! I had never seen a teenager with two heads before! I've lived here for years. I'm not that same newcomer anymore. I've been in the radio station several times. I was in the station the day I first met Cecil," he reminded Dana, rebuilding his confidence. "It's a happy memory of mine, looking back."

"I know," Dana said, trying not to sound condescending. "But you've been gone for awhile and only in Night Vale again for a week and a half--Oh, welcome back, by the way. I don't think I've had the chance to welcome you back since the events of the past ten days."

"Yeah, oh, thanks. But it doesn't matter. I'm not re-sensitized to the town's abnormalities; I'm really not. In fact, I strongly appreciate the ride and all your help, but you don't have to stay here. I can easily walk back to the lab to get my car," Carlos tried to assure her, opening the car door and stepping out onto the vast and rocky pavement surrounding Cecil's place of work. Now that the pages were no longer blank and mocking him, he was certain the final errand before returning home to his sweet Cecil would be easy as imaginary corn pie. He was sure.

Dana was happy that Carlos' voice and appearance no longer resembled or echoed that of the man who had called her, distraught and disheveled, hours prior, but decided to stick around in case his relaxation was premature. "I'll just drive around the back of the building and wait for you there. It's no trouble," she said and began to rev up the vehicle.

"You don't have to. But okay. I'll be out in a flash," the scientist said with a silly salute, closing the door and making his way to the front of the station.

"And by the way, Cecil also fainted last time he saw Management in the flesh, if you heard his broadcast," Carlos quickly added, popping his head over the rolled down window before Dana backed the car in reverse.

"Just go, Carlos," she gently scolded and he wordlessly left to carry out his duty, watching his friend's car fade away to another side of the lot.

Despite his exhaustion, Carlos thought he made it to the main entrance with relative swiftness, though he supposed any pace could be considered relatively swift, scientifically speaking. There was a camera between the two doors Carlos hadn't remembered being there a year before, but his memory wasn't the sharpest, and he'd grown accustomed to cameras always watching him in Night Vale. This should have been expected.

The glass doors simply said "Pull" but didn't open until Carlos gave the bottom of the right door a few good kicks and stated a password.

After seven guesses while the sunlight was near blinding his eyes he shouted, "Let me in!" The doors seemed to accept that.

Perhaps he was still a touch stressed. But he could do this. He could do just this _one_  thing. Cecil was counting on him.

The familiarity of the station's interior hit him in a flash. The old minimalist paintings featuring campfires, picnic baskets, and not-quite-humans being devoured. The soft, antique carpeting under his shoes. The large windows showing a beautiful view of the city. The intern on the floor by the elevator, pale and unmoving, mouth agape...oh.

Well, Carlos would have to get used to many lives lost to community radio internship, he supposed. He guessed this was the same intern who informed Leonard Burton that the sunset would arrive sooner, and then at some point lost consciousness from some dangerous assignment--

Sunset! It was almost five, according to the probably inaccurate grandfather clock in the corner, and Carlos could hear the sun setting nosily outside. No time to restudy the building. He was on a mission.

He clutched the pages to his chest and moved forward. The sunset sounded like the loudest drum constructed by drum builders, almost perfectly in sync with his current heartbeat. He pressed a button on the elevator, giving a sorrowful glance at the fallen, unpaid worker, turning back to find the elevator broken, or "suspended," as there was a sign that read: "This elevator is suspended for reasons you don't need to know. Seriously. You don't. Walk away." Okay. The stairs it was then.

The stairs seemed to be endless and spiraling in opposite directions, and were a good reminder to the man climbing them why he was a scientist and not an athlete. Carlos cursed in botany and dendrology terms as stray papers slipped between the cracks of the steps, requiring him to climb back down to gather up and reorganize them. He noticed fresh, wet spots of blue on his lab coat. _'Please don't smudge,'_  he pleaded to no one. The form rules said "Neatness counts." Appropriate for Cecil.

To curb his frustration and pounding heart beat, he thought about how peaceful and cute Cecil looked that morning, still asleep in bed when Carlos kissed him on the forehead goodbye and darted off to make his day easier. He'd left him a pleasant voicemail on the drive to the same building he was currently panting in, only then he had driven around the back to avoid the secluded ping pong ball storm on the north side of town. He'd entered the back doors and been practically teleported to Station Management's door, avoiding the labyrinth he seemed to have to follow to arrive there this time. All would require proper science-ing in the near future.

For now, he kept his mind on his sweet Cecil, sleeping on a headphone-shaped pillow, wearing a worn-out "Only You Can Prevent Valentines" t-shirt. He could never climb these stairs while his legs were still numb. Carlos _needed_  to do this for him. That's the hero, scientist boyfriend's job.

The combination of his feet stomping on each step, the pangs of the sky as the sun lowered, and his own heart beating fiercely in his chest formed a steady rhythm, the description of which would make for an interesting traffic report. Cecil's traffic reports were often like that, narrating the thoughts and actions of one of or two miscellaneous people. Carlos didn't understand what it had to do with the cars and trucks on the road, but it was one of his favorite segments hear.

Hearing Cecil's smooth voice, if only in his mind, helped ease his anxiety as he finally reached the floor where his boyfriend typically sat to deliver the news. He didn't recall needing to travel up so many stairs when he would visit Cecil at the station years earlier, almost beginning to suspect they were placed there just to make his errands more difficult. Or that he was dreaming it. It was very hard to tell if you were dreaming in Night Vale. Simply pinching your skin was no longer a scientifically valid test.

Once on the proper floor it didn't take long to encounter the recording studio. Leonard Burton sat inside, wearing his old-timey attire and surrounded by old-timey radio equipment, speaking comparatively about then and now, his voice hard for Carlos to hear over the sunset that drummed in his ears, reminding him time was almost up. Thank the scientific method time wasn't real.

Carlos gave a friendly wave to the retired host again and the man waved back, but less friendly. Not angry, but not quite happy either. It was respectful. Neutral.

Carlos wondered what the man who worshiped the past thought of the returned outsider that he was, living with his favorite intern of yore, but did not concern himself with it. Cecil was happy he was back. Dana was happy he was back. _Carlos_  was happy he was back. That was all that mattered.

From what Carlos could read of Leonard's lips, he was mentioning Carlos and Cecil's names on the radio. Likely stating Carlos was in the studio, politely reminding the listening audience of Cecil's condition and vacation. Carlos' eyes landed on the picture of Cecil on his desk. A simple portrait of the man he loved.

And he was snapped back to his mission.

Station Management's door wasn't hidden or forbidden or another inconvenient detour. It was right where it always was, five feet from the recording room, a little off to the left, a bright glow underneath. The sunset seemed to be quieting, and yet the clock on his phone said it was not 5 o'clock yet. He wished he had Cecil's watch to know the "real" time, but would never ask his boyfriend to take it off his wrist. This was fine.

The scientist took a deep breath and his heart slowed to an ordinary beat. He was finally at the "easy" part of this delivery. No more dawdling. It was likely almost five. Dana was waiting patiently for him in the parking lot. The broadcast would be coming to a close. Cecil was probably hungry at home waiting for him. Just slide the pages under and call it a weird, yet productive day.

Mr. Burton just out of his peripheral vision, and the window to outside showing the local black helicopters painting the sky the most beautiful turquoise and purple blended color, Carlos relaxed enough to knock on the door where Cecil's boss inhabited. The door felt warm this time, he noted, and upon hearing the growls of affirmation he refused to let intimidate him, the scientist knelt down to slip the papers under the door one by one.

It turned out "slipping" the papers under the door was not required. For the moment Carlos placed page #1 containing Cecil's basic contact and residential information on the floor, an unseen force sucked the page rapidly under the door in seconds. Carlos was surprised and his hand jolted, but he simply went with the process. _This will make things easier._  He placed down page #2. Gone. Page 3. Zap. Page 4. Whoosh.

The act became tedious, but it was getting done. Management was receiving the pages filled with irrelevant, obscure, personal data about Cecil. Questions Carlos almost couldn't answer, required for reasons Carlos thought were to keep hardworking citizens from getting the sick days they needed. The sick days that _Cecil_  needed through no fault of his own.

But it wasn't fitting for a scientist and two-year resident to propose theories regarding Night Vale politics, Carlos thought, still placing pages down one at a time, not daring to place more than one at a time in case it was against the rules. He started moving his hand back quickly, feeling a burning under the door and the vacuum-like pressure that was whipping in the papers increasing its speed. _Maybe this is what Dana meant about losing fingers._

Page 29. Page 30. Page 30 7/8. Page 31...

_"The swarm of bees loose in the local science lab, which I'm told is for the use of...science? The bees have been proven to be harmless. They said, in a language that was not English but was easy to translate by the crew, that they only wished to be asked permission before being experimented on, and that they would be happy to participate once they cleared their own busy schedules. And now the sun is starting to blacken, which must mean it's time for the weather."_

Page 53. Page 54 1/2. Page That-Better-Be-55...

At least his team was safe, and none of them were allergic to bees, Carlos thought. He should have known to have all the insects sign consent forms. He'd just been so distracted...

He resolved that the music would calm his nerves as he saw Leonard Burton fumble for the correct switch. Carlos tried not to take his eyes away from the papers he was submitting for too long, but diverted them long enough to see Leonard stand up and give the scientist an eerie, suspicious glare before making his way to the men's room. _'Not the time to question it,'_  Carlos mentally coached himself. _Not the time._

Page 65. Page 66. Page 67...

The papers were being sucked under the door at lightning speed, and the weather blared a heavy metal song with vocals screaming about aging and death. _So much for a calming weather today._  He tried to cover his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, the words and noise bringing back his headache, but resumed taking papers from the top of the stack and laying them on the floor one by one.

The noise that the town claimed to be a meteorological report kept on, and the first chorus seemed impossibly loud. But nothing in Night Vale is impossible.

That was why Carlos was 76.3% certain he wasn't imagining the helicopters flying outside the window spray painting the sky an unnaturally dark, inky black. It was unnerving, but he pressed on. Page after page. He didn't know why Cecil's boss, or bosses, or whatever Station Management was, needed so much personal, embarrassing history. Then again, he didn't know why the pilots in those helicopters couldn't let the sky naturally darken. He didn't know why Leonard Burton looked at him that way. He didn't know if the words of the weather were meant for him or truly Night Vale's way of giving a forecast.

He didn't know why he felt a gush of wind indoors, or burns flick onto his skin, or the loss of feeling in his fingertips.

He didn't know Night Vale. He choked a little. Carlos didn't _know_  Night Vale.

But he knew Cecil. Carlos knew Cecil. And so he tried to snap out of his existential whining and questions that would not be scientifically answered that day, and placed page 78 down, thinking about cuddling with Cecil and ordering from Big Rico's once he got home. Their mushroom and purple pepperoni was sounding so good to him.

The spray paintings missed a spot, but then filled it in. There was no way for Carlos to deduce the actual time because nature couldn't be allowed to do its thing. He was definitely having trouble moving his hands, but not due to anxiety. It was due to them being numbed. Someone was trying to numb his body.

Someone or some _thing_  was trying to numb his body.

It felt like he was being injected with a mysterious, paralyzing liquid, but he wasn't. How was he supposed to submit this ridiculous number of papers if some entity in this building was trying to immobilize him? Unless it was a hallucination. He didn't know what was a hallucination anymore.

His arms were so stiff. A double gust of wind. There were five pages left, though. Were there really only five left? Or would they start multiplying like the bees? Would that mean he'd have more to write? Would Dana help him? Did whoever was singing the weather just say his name?

More wind. Was there a window open? No. He didn't care about his hair anymore. As long as he wasn't knocked down and they would let him go. But the gusts were strong, blowing his lab coat around his body like a cape. _Just put down another page._  He wished he could have simply placed the stack into the dropbox like Cecil did with his "What I Plan to Do On My Vacation" essay, but this stack was too thick, and he wouldn't dare diverge from Dana's instructions.

He paused to see how many he had left. Seven. He'd miscounted. Starting to lose the feeling in his upper arms, he felt another small burn on his face. And another. He looked up at the door and saw a small hole shooting out tiny embers, and the speed at which they were spitting out increased once he saw it. Five or six embers spitting out in his direction every other second, and they were getting bigger. Not hurting, only staining and sizzling his coat and hair. He already looked a mess; he long since stopped worrying about his hair. But if more fire flooded out there would be a serious problem.

_What in the name of Newton?_

He placed down page 80.

_Carlos_

That voice saying his name. It wasn't coming from the weather.

It was a whisper. And it was coming from...

_Caaarlos..._

It was coming from behind the door he had been crouched near for what felt like an hour.

It was coming from Station Management.

_Caarlos._

_The outsider._

_The scientist._

_He's back._

"What?" Carlos couldn't help but ask out loud in a high-pitched voice as more embers shot at him and page 80 was sucked under, but much slower than the rest.

_Car-los..._

Those whispering voices were, in less scientific terms, freaking him out. Since when did coming to the radio station land him in a bad horror flick? He used to surprise Cecil at the station all the time.

_He's baaack..._

The wind was picking up. He couldn't feel his shoulders now. Was Dana still out there?

Was it 5 o'clock yet? Did they just try to flick a large ember in his eye on purpose?

_Time's up for the scientist..._

He jumped to his feet, almost wrinkling the pages, amazed he was able to stand. The embers were larger, but now shooting and falling by his pant legs. No fire was spreading. He ignored the wind whipping around him like a tornado and forced himself to resume his squatting position and place down the last six papers. This was for Cecil.

He was stuck.

His feet were plastered in place, his legs as heavy as cinder. He couldn't move! He couldn't walk away or kneel by the door to slip under the remaining six. Why?!

He tried desperately to scrape his feet even a micro-inch across the floor. Why was he being trapped here? Should he have never entered? Was there a mistake in the clearly unnecessary paperwork?

Was this his punishment for coming home? Was this a punishment for staying away in the desert otherworld _too long_?! Was Cecil's employment manager officially rejecting him? He just wanted to scream for them to get any attack over with, because he'd had too stressful a day to handle this much longer, hearing his name in mysterious whispers, no control over his muscles, the sky blacker than should be possible with street lights still on...they won! Forget the final papers! They could have him! He gave up!

His head was at least able to turn toward the men's room when he was startled out of his thoughts. Leonard Burton exited (had all this _really_  only lasted the length of an average pee?). The host seemed unbothered by the blaring weather and returned to his seat, leaving the bathroom door open. Carlos heard Khoshekh and one of his kittens growl.

The growls of pets who needed Cecil to recover and feed them; needed Cecil to show them love and affection. His eyes wandered back to the recording booth, and he imagined Cecil. Cecil limping weakly, struggling to make his way about the small room before his legs healed. He saw the picture of Cecil on the desk again. A Cecil much younger looking than when Carlos first met him.

The phone in Carlos' pocket buzzed. He was unable to check it, but presumed it was Dana checking in on him. Or Cecil doing the same. He remembered Cecil's short, sweet text of "I love you" from earlier, and it was almost all the encouragement he needed not to give up. A scientist doesn't give up! A scientist always finds a way!

He tested and learned he could still move his fingers slightly. He wasn't quitting until he completed what should have been a simple chore for his injured boyfriend. He slid the remaining pages between his free fingers and knew his best bet was to drop them. Drop them and hope they would slide under the door, in place and in order, without the violent winds currently whipping around him blowing them away.

Miraculously the six papers containing non-vital information didn't fly away to Desert Bluffs, but did slide under the door, one by one, slowly. _Could I have just done that all along?_  Carlos didn't let the thought consume him. When he looked back down there were only two pages left. _'Wonderful. I may just need to be patient,'_  he thought while spitting hair out of his face from the wind. _Just two more._

Leonard was sipping coffee that was unlikely to still be hot and raising the volume of the weather. Did Cecil's ears hurt as much as his right now?

A headache was forming more in his skull. If it wasn't the unpleasant weather choice it was the disturbing statements of "He's baaack..." followed by his name. _'Don't let them get to you. You're still unharmed, and there's the last page sliding under. Then maybe you'll be freed,'_  spoke his internal monologue.

All the lights on the entire floor of the station went out, except for the glowing under the door and the hole that was firing embers. The cats in the restroom growled louder, possibly in fear, and the embers shot upward. Carlos squeezed his eyes closed to avoid any burning his eyes. _'Why didn't I wear safety goggles? Foolish scientist,'_  he berated himself.

He didn't dare open them, despite not feeling any burns on his face. There was nothing to see anyway. The room was near pitch black. He couldn't see Leonard Burton eyeing him, and couldn't see the last piece of paperwork inching painfully slow under the door, moving a centimeter of the way every thirty seconds. He couldn't run experiments, he couldn't text his team of scientists. He couldn't text Cecil.

 _Cecil. Think about Cecil._  This was for Cecil. There was nothing to do but wait. May as well think of pleasant thoughts. He willed his mind to think of Cecil playing _Jawbreaker_  on his phone and asking silly, unscientific questions about emperor penguins.

But all he could hear was his name echoing in that low voice and the weather engulfing him, the darkness engulfing him. He didn't know if he was in any danger, but he wanted it all to _stop_. He was a pilgrim in a foreign land that a year prior felt safe enough to call home. He was confused and scared and an outsider.

His head was spinning and everything was so loud he couldn't even hear Cecil's voice offering wisdom and comfort in his mind. He wanted to bolt out of there for Dana drive him home to be with Cecil. The weather was taunting him. _Everything_  was taunting him. No other place on Earth was like this!

"I'm with the mayor!" Carlos suddenly found his voice and screamed at the top of his lungs to whoever was doing this.

"And I'm a scientist!" he screamed in equal volume and strength, his eyes squeezed shut.

And then...and then...

What had happened? Did he faint?

He was still standing upright, feet glued to the floor.

Except they weren't glued. He could move again! His arms, too! His body was free!

Did he black out? Did he dream the whole thing? In the blink of an eye, everything surrounding him stopped. No, not stopped - lessened. The rough winds now a gentle breeze. The weather now a soft, easy melody. The echoes of his name, silent. He opened his eyes; the lights had returned. He looked down at the floor, now stretching his usable limbs again, breathing heavily, but sighing with newfound relief. The embers were sizzling, no longer generating from the circular spot in the door.

The final page of paperwork for Cecil was gone. In its place, a small red envelope with silver ridges and "C. Palmer" in the center.

Must be for Cecil. They got all the paperwork! He was done!

Carlos stepped back before slowly reaching his hand down to pick up the envelope. Nothing stopped him. Not a single spark or whisper. He switched it in his pocket for his cell phone and checked his text. It had been Dana.

_"Everything okay? Need help?"_

He sure did, but not anymore. Free of this madhouse, free of this impossible duty, and free to be home with Cecil!

He gave a grandiose wave to Leonard and the beings behind the door, fully embracing his restored mobility, and made a mad dash to the direction from whence he came.

Scientific adventures on what had just taken place would need to wait. For now he _ran_. Ran as though his life depended on it. Ran down the tens of hundreds of stairs down the spirals of staircases, passed the ghostly figure at the front desk, passed the intern corpse lying in a puddle of fluids by the elevator, passed the paintings and window showing the dark sky, bursting through the front doors, panting but not stopping, sprinting around to the back of the building in search of Dana's car. He never bothered replying to her text. He'd be safe in the closed automobile soon.

Carlos nearly tripped on fallen ping pong balls, making his way to where he spotted Dana's car parked under a large, transparent evergreen tree.

Then he heard it again:

_Caaarlooos..._

_Carlos..._

No, no, no, the whispering was back. He had to get out of this place.

He grasped the passenger door handle and was inside before Dana startled from her copy of _The Night Vale Daily Journal_  when the door slammed.

"Carlos!" the young woman exclaimed, staring at the man panting and sweating and looking more terrified than a child in the library.

"Drive!" No time for questions or answers.

"Calm down. What took so long? Are you--?"

"Drive!"

"Are you okay?! What happened?!"

"Just drive, drive, drive, _now_ , or I'll do it! Drive, Dana, please, _drive!_ "

So Dana drove, tires screeching, her foot firmly on the gas, waiting until Carlos' fear level was at an average visible range before asking what she was driving _from_.

She was the mayor. She _should_  have speed limit immunity.

"Don't tell me," she said calmly once they were safe on the road, and Carlos was breathing normal and steady, no longer hearing voices besides Dana's. "The station is in dire need of new insulation. I know."

The clock on the car's dashboard read 5 p.m.

  
**********

  
"Okay, sweetie. ...Aww, thank you. ...Yes, I promise I'll mention it to him. We _will_  make this happen. Oh, he just came home now."

Carlos stumbled through the apartment door, his coat covered in ash, slime, honey, and gray hairs, his face looking the part of someone who just fought off a librarian, though less victorious.

He found Cecil sitting on the sofa wrapped in a large blanket, bare legs dangling off the edge, holding the phone to his ear and smiling. He gave Carlos a wave and a bigger, personal smile that Carlos weakly returned before shutting the door behind him while Cecil resumed talking to the other being on the phone.

"Okay, honey, I'll let you get ready for dinner. Your mom's cooking right now? ...That's fine, I'll talk to her later. Enjoy. ...No, you don't have to put your stepdaddy on. ...No, really, honey, you don't. That is quite alright. No. Tell him _no_ , honey, I'm fine. No, thank you. ...Okay, buh-bye."

Carlos shook his head and smiled at the context clues that laced Cecil's end of the phone call, placing down his danger meter that had stopped beeping since he and Dana left the station. He felt like a cop off duty, setting down his rifle for the evening, and looked back over at his loving boyfriend, who couldn't look more content after hanging up the phone.

"Hi, sweetheart. Welcome home." Carlos noticed his voice wasn't quite up to par yet, and the color hadn't fully returned to his skin, his tattoos still looking like dried watercolor marks.

"Thanks. How do you feel?" Carlos asked, rubbing his eyes and wishing the drumming would stop. Sunset was thirty minutes ago.

"I'm well. A bit of a lingering headache, and I still can't move my legs or feet, but I'm alive. That was Janice on the phone. She called and asked how I was feeling, wasn't that sweet of her? Oh, and she also wanted to know if we could assist her in a special secret project she's planning."

"Yeah, that's very sweet. You can tell me all about it later, let me just..." Carlos stopped mid-sentence and squinted in confusion at Cecil's body and words. "Wait, if you still can't walk, how did you get in here from the bedroom?"

Cecil simply shrugged while yawning and stretching. "I don't know. I went back to sleep after we texted this afternoon and woke up out here on the couch a few hours later. Just in time for a _Star Trek_  and _Jaws_  film crossover on TV, so I didn't question it." Cecil patted the couch cushion beside him and scooched as much as his body allowed. "Come sit?" he pleasantly offered.

Carlos accepted this answer and nodded, collapsing into the sofa next to Cecil, eyes relaxed shut and head laying against the back of the couch.

"How was your day? Science as exciting as ever? I heard on the radio...hey, I never get to say that, 'I heard on the radio.' Heh. I heard on the radio something about bees terrorizing the lab? Is everyone okay?" Cecil asked the plethora of questions before truly taking in how messy, exhausted, and frustrated his boyfriend appeared. "Are you alright?"

Carlos attempted a nod and he kept his eyes closed. Cecil's fingers trailed up his boyfriend's face and played with the graying black curls near his temple. "What on Earth happened to your hair?" he asked, noticing the parts that looked burnt, ripped out, and slime-coated. "You look like a Ghostbuster from that Netflix documentary we caught on Tuesday."

"Mmm..." Carlos finally opened his eyes and gave a weak smile to his concerned boyfriend. "I'm sorry, Cecil. Rough day. We're all safe from the bees. Today." He rubbed his head and then remembered the last part of his incomplete job. "Oh." He pulled out the red, glistening envelope containing the name "C. Palmer" on the front and handed it to Cecil. "This is for you," he said and resumed his position of looking passed out on the couch.

"Oh! Thanks," Cecil accepted the envelope gleefully, examining the front in surprise before ripping it open. "I had forgotten you were filling out and delivering my vacation request forms today. Thank you so much, honey. How did it go?" Carlos rolled his head onto Cecil's shoulder and gave only a muffled groan in response. Cecil gave a short laugh but avoided a probably unwanted "I told you so" remark, instead commenting on how considerate it was of Station Management to label his first initial and last name on the envelope rather than the cryptic and terrifying symbol for Human Resources.

After wrestling the envelope open with his teeth and sneering at it for a maximum of forty-two seconds, the envelope itself disappeared in a puff of smoke and the single paper inside floated gently into Cecil's lap. Carlos missed all this, his head still hiding in the crook of the injured host's neck.

"Great!" Cecil declared when he unfolded and read the notice, turning it around for Carlos to see. "Perfect!"

Carlos tore his face away from Cecil's shirt long enough to look up and read what Cecil was holding up.

The scientist blinked several times to erase the likelihood that he was hallucinating the simplicity of the message.

It was a 10 by 8 plain white sheet of paper with two bold black letters taking up the center.

"OK" it read.

"That's it?" Carlos whispered, or more _growled_ , showing his aggravation for the first time since he walked through the door. Cecil looked puzzled.

"Well, yeah. It simply means that they've received our request and accepted it. They're _okay_ with it. I'm now officially approved! You understand--?"

"That's IT?!" Carlos interrupted the unnecessary explanation of the text and raised his voice. "I spent the entire day chasing coloring book pages and sheet music from blowing down the street, and looking up your great-great-uncle's employment history, and feeling like I was going to be sucked into an unseen creature's lair while it whispered my name like a B-movie monster--"

"Huh?"

"...just so they could not even read it all and throw back a letter that says a simple 'OK'? Not even fully _spelled_? What was the point of all that?! Why was it necessary? Why put me through all of it? Was it a game? Was it some bizarre test? Was it a sick prank?! I don't--I--ugh!" Carlos finished his tirade, stopped flailing his arms animatedly, and collapsed back against the sofa. _'Forget it,'_ his mind said. It was done.

Cecil watched his boyfriend go silent after the outburst, eyebrows raised. He bit his lip in fear--no, not fear. Concern. He bit his lip in concern, and then spoke. "Umm...are you _sure_  you're okay, Carlos? I mean, I know science and mandatory community radio paperwork can be overwhelming, but you--you have that look on your face," Cecil finally addressed. "You have since you came home tonight."

"What look?" Carlos asked, his face halfway smushed against the furniture's material.

Cecil thought of the best descriptor for "the look." He hadn't seen that face in what felt like years. "The one you often had when we were first dating. Actually, mostly _before_  we started dating. That 'This town makes no sense' look."

On the television, on which the volume was set low, a PSA was telling the story of a teenager who was peer pressured into trying wheat products, and had to live the rest of their life as an orphan with rattle snakes for arms, their parents eaten by the child's own limbs. The bottom of the screen listed information on how to contact the Sheriff's Secret Police if you find even a grain of wheat in a child's backpack. Carlos vaguely recognized the voice of the teenager speaking as one of Cecil's old interns.

"This town _does_  make no sense," Carlos answered, cynicism evident in his normally cheerful voice. His were eyes still closed, oblivious to Cecil's fallen, fearful, no-not-fearful-concerned, expression.

"Oh," the only word that left the Voice of Night Vale's lips, his multi-colored body art fading light blue. The sadness weighing heavy on the word caught Carlos' attention, and he finally looked up and opened his eyes to see the concern-not-fear engulfing his boyfriend's face, immediately regretting his words, snapping out of his bad mood enough to realize how he must have sounded. What his statement must have implied.

"Oh! Oh, Cecil. Oh, Cecil, no. No, no, honey, look at me. Cecil, listen. Please look at me and listen?" Carlos took Cecil's hand and gently pleaded until Cecil looked up into his eyes, trying to smile off his concern.

"Carlos, you don't have to--"

"No, _listen_  to me, Cecil. I'm not going anywhere." The four little words were spoken with all the confidence a scientist wears like a badger of honor every day. With the confidence and certainty that Cecil felt every time Carlos told him "I love you." The confidence and certainty Carlos now deeply regretted not expressing more during the previous week. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

Cecil smiled down at their hands, embarrassed by his concern. "I know that, Carlos. I know..." He had no reason to doubt that Carlos was staying in Night Vale. This concern was completely unwarranted, unlike most concerns about all other aspects of life.

"No, I may not have made that clear the night I returned after the opera, and I should have. A scientist is always accurate in their reports. I am _staying_  in Night Vale. And not just for you, but because I _want_  to." He rubbed Cecil's hand and watched his boyfriend's smile grow. "I'm living in Night Vale for good, and I want to be. That was my decision, that's still my decision, and one or two bad days are not going to change that. It's scientifically ridiculous. So don't worry about me taking off or anything, okay?"

"Carlos. I wasn't worried about that..." Cecil cleared his throat and shifted under the blanket. "Well, perhaps for a fraction of a second. Time is weird, right?" Carlos looked at him with sympathetic eyes. Cecil sighed and tried to confess his fears-no-concerns. "You just...you haven't been home _that_ long, though it's been wonderful, and I know it was a quick decision, for you to move back here for good, and it's been years since I've seen you with that look--but I don't see you at all waking hours, so only the Secret Police know what kind of cute, frustrated faces you make..."

"Cecil, I don't blame you for feeling skeptical. It's the scientific way to be," Carlos reassured. "It makes sense for you to be worried that I may want to leave again after how long I was gone, and how long I kept you waiting and wondering when I would return. So if you need me to continuously reassure you that I'm staying in Night Vale, I will." He then leaned back on the arm of the sofa with a wistful sigh. "I love Night Vale for all its quirks and strangeness and scientific anomalies," he stated and Cecil could sense there was more.

"But...?" he asked, pushing his boyfriend for further communication.

"There's no 'but'," Carlos defended playfully, but couldn't escape Cecil's knowing stare. "Well, maybe there's a 'but'," he confessed with a giggle. His first form of laughter that day.

"It's just..." Carlos often struggled communicating directly, a problem with which Cecil was always patient and understanding. Nevertheless, the scientist tried his best to explain his feelings. "My first year in Night Vale...it's so vastly different here from the rest of the world, or at least the rest of the world that I've studied and explored, which I'll admit isn't more than four countries, but anyway...Night Vale is _so_ different. I went through a strong...culture shock when I first moved here, and then began to adjust and adapt to the...typical Night Vale weirdness. But then I was away for what seems to have been one year, having lost all sense of time, you being my only connection to this town. And I guess, despite not wanting to admit it, I can't just jump back into Night Vale life after a year away and be as adjusted as before. I may be experiencing much of that initial early culture shock for the second time. Less strong because I do remember life in Night Vale, and I have you to help me, but...it's back. I'm sure it'll fade and I'll re-adapt in no time. Or some time. We'll figure out time," Carlos explained, in his opinion poorly, but Cecil seemed to be gripping the concept.

"So like a second round of culture shock? Culture shock: the sequel?" Cecil inquired and Carlos laughed.

"Something like that. We should make up a scientific word for it," he joked, though it wasn't entirely a joke, because he loved creating new scientific words.

"I think I understand. You were very wide-eyed and jumpy when we first met. It's natural to become used to your comfort zone. I guess after one year, the desert otherworld became your comfort zone?" Cecil began to find his voice again, though it was still scratchy after his throat closing up this time the day before.

"Yeah. I--" Carlos never really explained to anyone why he enjoyed the desert otherworld so much. He never told Cecil much outside of it being "scientifically fascinating," which it was, and people being "nicer than in Night Vale," which felt debatable. "It was Night Vale without all the... _Night Vale_ ," Carlos repeated the town's name with emphasis, and Cecil tilted his head like a confused puppy.

"I don't follow--"

"It was weird and mysterious and scientifically fascinating. My first year in Night Vale may have been rough, but I love those things about it here. But in the other desert otherworld, it didn't have the same dangers and oppressive rules like Night Vale. No one treating me with suspicion because they were raised not to trust science. No one calling me an 'interloper.' No Secret Police threatening to shut me down for snooping in forbidden information. No fear of being run down by street cleaners. I didn't have to report any research to a superior. It was...free. I was free. To do science, I mean. In a place just as weird but less scary. Sure, I missed you like crazy, but I had your voice on my phone that never died, and I so looked forward to your vacation and possible move there, which was more than I had my fist year in Night Vale. And I know it sounds selfish, since my team has been very welcoming since I returned, but it was nice working alone on so many experiments. A scientist is self-reliant, you know?"

Cecil was pensive for several moments, thoughtful, and at first Carlos worried that he had said something offensive against Cecil's treasured hometown. He was ready to clarify before Cecil spoke.

"Carlos...when I was... _dying_ ," Cecil started, which made Carlos wince so Cecil took a gentler tone. "When I was in trouble last night, and you weren't able to save me on your own, who was it that helped you?"

Carlos had a strong suspicion this question was some sort of test, but he thought about that awful time the day before and answered anyway.

A Faceless Old Woman could be heard loudly reading poetry from the laundry room.

"Steve," he said with a short laugh. "For all his faults, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't called and sped over here--"

"And when filling out the paperwork today for my time off work?" Cecil interrupted with a follow-up question. "As hard as I know you tried, I know you didn't complete and deliver those all by yourself," the radio host said with a small grin and Carlos didn't attempt denying it.

"Dana," Carlos answered with another laugh. "I mean...she stopped all her plans for the day to dig through the Hall of Records to figure out your ancestry, coached me on how to deliver the forms in one piece, and even gave me a ride to the station and back home," Carlos detailed all their friend, the mayor, had done for him that day when he was close to a breakdown. "She's a good friend."

"She is," Cecil agreed, still in awe of how forgiving the young mayor had been after his false and unfair accusations regarding the purchase and usage of Lot 37.

"Rochelle and many of my other scientists tried to help, too. And a homeless rock formation outside of my lab who informed me what a birth echo is. Fascinating."

"Okay," Cecil stopped Carlos before he began talking geology while a vague yet menacing government agency were listening. "So, by that account, that you were able to do necessary things only with the help of other citizens, doesn't that mean that maybe sometimes a scientist isn't always best when self-reliant?"

Carlos didn't have an immediate answer, staring, lost, thinking. "Umm. Well..."

"I'm not an expert on geography either, or where the best people in the world reside. I only know...we have great friends and family. I know Night Vale has problems, awful things, terrifying things. Believe me, I've lived here my whole life, and even I was feeling the same way this year, fed up with all the stress it can cause. But...it has great people. I feel like now, I would rather live in a place that's dangerous and frustrating with wonderful people to help me through it, than live alone in a paradise with no troubles," Cecil explained more timidly than on the radio. "I mean, I would never feel alone as long as I was with you, Carlos. Anywhere we are together is home," Cecil confirmed and took his boyfriend's hand. "I just meant that...at least here...we're surrounded by such good people we're lucky enough to know so well, who make the troubles of life more bearable."

And Carlos thought again, about the people of Night Vale. More specifically the people Cecil was describing - their family and friends. Not just how they helped him the past two days, but how much they'd done for him the past three years.

Steve helping him change a tire in the middle of a busy Route 800 during his first two weeks in town. Josie and the Erikas lending him a magical rake to clean out his gutters when gravity took a day off. A suspicious man saving his life at a bowling alley when he was bleeding to death.

And he realized that Cecil couldn't be more right.

"Cecil?" Carlos asked thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you about the weeping cactus game? From when I was in the desert otherworld?"

Cecil raised both eyebrows. "You were playing _games_  out there?" he asked in a playful accusatory tone at the thought of his much missed beloved partaking in "games" instead of important scientific research or trying to find a way home.

"Uh...I mean...scientific games!" Carlos immediately sputtered out in defense upon realizing his poor choice in words. "Research games...experiments!" he changed the term. "Just...something myself and the nomadic giants would do during my first few weeks there. When I couldn't find a door," he explained and raised his hands in an attempt to save himself. Cecil, fortunately, let him off the hook with a smile and a wave of the hand signaling him to continue what he was saying about cacti games.

"This one cactus. It wasn't far from the nomadic army's camp, and in the first few weeks I was there I would visit it every day and study a strange phenomenon. Depending on unknown circumstances, the person standing or sitting near the cactus...would cry. Uncontrollably, inexplicably, they would weep for apparently no discernible reason."

"Crying...like when somebody is chosen to become an Erika?" Cecil asked.

"Yeah, similar to that. The people would cry, first softly, then strong tears. I would cry myself, and then I would look up with blurry eyes to see the giants with tears plopping down like large rain drops. My eyes would sometimes be too blurry to read my notes. And then after a bit of time the cactus _itself_  would cry. Tears would produce from the plant, and it would tilt forward like a weeping willow tree, and some of the spikes would begin to wilt."

Cecil listened with humble curiosity, fingers mindlessly playing with the velvet corner of the scarlet-colored blanket.

"And then there were other times when the cactus would have the polar opposite effect. At random moments the cactus would be standing tall and strong, two feet taller than usual, and anyone in close range would be in a wonderful mood. Simply ecstatic. And through all my experiments on the cactus, I was never able to find the factors that made the people and the cactus cry or smile. I found _no_  link. It's one of those mysteries from my time in that strange dimension to which I may never find a scientific answer, along with the eternally-changed cell phone battery," Carlos explained.

"Fascinating," Cecil said and adjusted his glasses, trying to appear understanding of his boyfriend's story. "And scientific. But what does that...?"

"The day I returned to Night Vale there was a huge sandstorm," Carlos interjected noting Cecil's confusion. "I lost all my research, the army kept coming back bloody and injured from battles, and...nothing felt right. Nothing felt good anymore. I didn't know what to do," Carlos recalled the feeling in a solemn tone, and Cecil took both his hands.

"But when I stepped outside...I saw the cactus. It was five feet taller, maybe more. It was high and sturdy, and when some of the recovering army were gathering around it, their wounds nearly healed and they never looked happier. It was one of those moments the cactus that sometimes made people weep was giving them nothing but joy. And all after a terrible storm." Carlos quieted and bowed his head before saying the last part.

"And...that was when...I decided to come back to Night Vale."

"Oh, Carlos..." Cecil moved closer, as much as his lower body could, and ran a hand through Carlos' hair, keeping it there. Carlos looked back up and smiled showing his perfect teeth.

"That cactus is how I feel about Night Vale," Carlos finally arrived at his point. "It's a place that can make you...sad and scared at any given moment, but it's also lovely and gorgeous and exactly what you need out of life...if you look in the right spots. It just takes time to see all it has to offer. If you avoid it forever because it's imperfect, you'll really be missing out." Carlos finished his spiel, feeling like he was doing Cecil's radio show, not used to orally expressing himself this much.

"Aww, Carlos!" Cecil leaned forward to hug him, and held him tight like that night out in the rain after the opera. "I had no idea beautiful and romantic metaphors were such a big part of science," he whispered into Carlos' ear which earned a laugh.

"They are," Carlos responded and pulled back from the embrace. "And I want to experience all the lovely and gorgeous and best parts of Night Vale together with you."

"Oh!" the over-enthusiastic radio host seemed to regain the use of his larynx, and the light blue of his tattoos was replaced by a pink and purple tint on his cheeks. "We are going to have _so_  much fun together now that you're back! There's bowling, the opera, the holidays, dinners at Tourniquet. Oh, and you should come back on the radio to talk more about The House That Doesn't Exist!"

"Cecil, my team and I haven't studied or been near that housing development in well over a year," Carlos said with another laugh at his boyfriend's excited rambling.

"So? It's still important scientific journalism that the listeners _love_  hearing about," Cecil said what he felt to be obvious while Carlos rolled his eyes. "Okay, talk about whatever science you like on the radio. Just be warned that Maureen seems to be in an odd mood every time she visits," Cecil commented.

Carlos chucked and made himself more comfortable. "Noted."

"And Janice really does want our help with an upcoming personal project. She asked specifically for your scientific aid. I think it's going to take _both_  of her uncles to make it happen."

"Then I'm there for her," Carlos said without hesitation and smiled genuinely at the very thought of Cecil's sweet niece wanting his help.

Cecil became quiet himself for approximately eight seconds, but spoke up before Carlos could ask what was wrong.

"Living out in the desert otherworld with you would have been great, but...leaving my family--"

"I never should have asked you to leave for me--" Carlos said, feeling terrible for even considering putting Cecil in that position.

"No, no. It was _my_  choice. I was...not in a good place. I was having my own personal issues with the town that I should not have let effect my better judgment. I loved our vacation so much, and the army out there do make a great community, but...I know now that I could never leave Janice and Abby...or the spirit of my mother," Cecil said barely above a whisper.

Rather than risk seeming disrespectful by prying more into personal information regarding Cecil's mother, who he rarely mentioned, Carlos stayed on the topic of their family that he knew. "Well, Abby and Janice and Steve are now my family, too, who I love," he said genuinely which earned him a bizarre look from Cecil that he knew was silently asking him, "You love _Steve_?" causing Carlos once again to change his words.

"I like him, I like him, alright? He helped save your life, it's hard for me not to at least like him for that, okay?" he collapsed back against the sofa and this time Cecil rolled his eyes. "You were _saying_?" Carlos asked hoping to change the subject away from such controversial topics as Steve Carlsberg.

Helicopter propellers and sirens could be heard outside their window as Cecil spoke again. "I know the town has problems, but...our relationship struggled a little, while we were living so far apart, but we didn't give up. Like I said on the radio, we should try to change it and make it better, not run away," Cecil reiterated his sentiments from the night after the opera, and the sounds of the helicopters seemed to fade away from their building.

"Absolutely. And as an outsider _and_  a scientist I have a few ideas to help make this place better. Starting with less paperwork and no more Venom Box," Carlos announced in a moment worthy of a sitcom laugh track. "I'm certain all it will take is a few scientific gadgets and a strongly-worded petition, and we are off the mailing list." The Secret Police may have been listening. The couple didn't worry.

"Don't forget that our mayor is one of the most diplomatic and forgiving people I know. I heard from Dana that Hiram McDaniels may face a real trial for his crimes. A trial! For the first time in Night Vale history! She _really_  wants to fairly serve all old and new citizens. With my journalism skills, her leadership, and your science..."

"...we can make some real change," Carlos finished for him. The words of Walt Whitman were heard muffled from down the hall.

"Hey, they're _already_  making real and positive change at the radio station," Cecil said using the voice he did when delivering good news on his show. His voice had returned at least 74% back to normal. "I'm sure you noticed, Station Management has increased security greatly in the last few weeks. They've installed over four thousand stairs, broke the elevator so nobody could sneak in that way, and enacted several new tactics for scaring away intruders outside their office door!"

Carlos' smile vanished, and before Cecil could comment on the beauty of the day's weather report, the scientist fell head-first into the host's lap, instinctively mindful of his weak and sore legs. Cecil looked down, his face showing confusion once again. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh...nothing, just...be patient with me," the scientist groaned and looked up into Cecil's violet eyes.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I'm not...I'm not always good at this. Scientifically speaking no one can be good at everything and I'm not always good at Night Vale. I mean...I'm not always good at _living_  in Night Vale. I want to be, for you, and for myself. Night Vale is the most scientifically interesting community of all, and it's a place that means everything to you, but my first week back in town...you almost died and I couldn't save you, and I couldn't fill out and deliver your sick leave paperwork myself, and I couldn't even cook you a Night Vale recipe for dinner, and...I'm not always the hero, perfect scientist you want me to be--"

When Cecil realized where Carlos was going with this he quickly put a stop to it. He couldn't stand listening to Carlos speak so negatively about himself. "Carlos, is _that_  part of what's been bothering you? That's silly. You don't have to prove you can do all these things for me. It's okay if you're not good at everything in Night Vale since you're still relatively new here. I would never judge you for that. Why would I? You've never judged me based on my amateur science skills. Proving ourselves to each other has never been what this relationship is about. I don't expect you to be a hero scientist boyfriend. I just need you to be you," The Voice of Night Vale ended his motivating speech.

"That's what Dana said," Carlos remembered out loud while giving Cecil an appreciative smile and sitting up on the other side of him.

"Dana was _right_. I love you for what you _can_  do. There's never a need to stress about what you can't do."

Carlos sat up fully so he was on equal eye level with Cecil.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"No, I mean it, Cecil. I do love you. I know I was wrong to make you wait so long for me to come home, and to ask you to leave your job and your family in Night Vale, but I need you to know that I love you--"

"Carlos," Cecil stopped him again and kissed the scientist's cheek. "You attempted to write and deliver the Night Vale Community Radio leave of absence paperwork all by yourself for me. I _know_ you love me," Cecil gave the slightly backhanded compliment with a smug, teasing grin and Carlos narrowed his eyes and cooked up some swift, scientific payback.

"Hey, Ceec, are you sure you're feeling better? You look a bit flush. Let me check your pulse," Carlos said and dove to plant a kiss on a colorful point on Cecil's neck, causing all the other man's tattoos to light up and Cecil to shriek and try to push him away.

"Aaah! Aah! Tickle spot! Ticklish spahat! Don't!" the tattoos on his neck stopped squirming when Carlos removed his lips, and the rest of the body art returned to its ordinary shade. Cecil cleared his throat with a rough cough, his voice not yet up to hard laughter, and glanced up and down at his attacker's clothing.

"Why are you covered in honey? Is it from the bees?"

Carlos almost explained what happened at the lab that day, but settled on a joke instead. "No. It's for you." He dipped his finger into a spot of honey that was still wet on the knee of his jeans. "Honey for my honey-voiced honey," he said while trying to drop it onto Cecil's tongue, missing when his boyfriend shut his mouth and moved his head, resulting in the recovering radio professional sitting with honey smeared on his nose.

"Hey!" Cecil giggled and squealed to avoid being pelted with more of the yellow, sticky substance until Carlos gave up and the pair were laughing and cuddling.

"You must be hungry," Carlos suddenly realized after the honey fight. "I'm sorry I spent my entire time since coming home gabbing."

"No, it's fine. I've been asleep off and on. Only now do I feel like I could keep anything down without vomiting acid from my lungs."

Carlos cringed at Cecil's description of such health problems, and Cecil secretly dropped some honey into Carlos' imperfect hair.

"Do you want to order from Big Rico's? I have had the strangest craving all day for some purple pepperoni pizza," the scientist confessed.

"No, they don't deliver anymore. Not since that wheat-smuggling incident at my former intern's house," Cecil recounted with a shudder. "So sad. I'm pretty sure I covered it on my show a few months back...or were you too busy crying under a cactus to hear it?" he teased, and Carlos rolled his eyes and began to untangle himself from his boyfriend's body.

"I'll go whip up something in the kitchen. Maybe _some_  of the pasta still in the fridge survived the venomous creatures--"

"Oh, wait," Cecil reached over to the shadow-painted side table and turned on their radio, gently pulling Carlos back into him on the sofa. "The broadcast should be wrapping up. Listen to it with me?" Before Carlos could process it, Leonard Burton's voice was carrying through their living room. "I turned it off when Janice called, but it would be lovely to listen to the end together," Cecil said, and there was no way Carlos could deny Cecil that much, so they both curled up again and listened to the former Voice of Night Vale, the Voice from Cecil's childhood, finish the community news radio show.

_"Only one child escaped from the black hole outside the bloodstone factory - six-year-old Bobby Moyer. That boy is sure to have a mighty story to tell at his next scouts meeting._

_The factory and their partnering distributor are offering a special sale as compensation to the families of the lost children. 'Lose one child in a mysterious hole at our manufacturing warehouse? Get 50% off your next stone.' That seems like a fair deal to me, Listeners. The rising costs of bloodstones have been far too high..."_

"My mother and I would often listen to the end of Leonard's show together when I was just a boy," Cecil said, and Carlos knew he was sharing a very special piece of his memories. "I miss it sometimes," Cecil added softly.

"Do you want to be let in on a little town secret?" Carlos said in a mischievous tone to the _Voice_  of Night Vale of all people, and Cecil looked confused, temporarily taking his attention away from the radio. "Everyone else _really_  misses _you_  when you're not on the radio and Leonard hosts instead."

"Really?" Cecil seemed surprised and humbled.

"Are you kidding? All any of my scientists were saying this afternoon, I mean, before we were taken over by angry bees, was how much better the show is when you're hosting," Carlos said, beaming with pride, though the compliments were all to his boyfriend. "I wouldn't be surprised if nobody ever let _you_  retire with that gorgeous voice of yours," he said with a wink.

Cecil made a playful, exaggerated gasp and placed one hand over where he presumed his heart _should_  be. "But then how are we going to grow old together and spend our golden years playing _Cards in Favor of Humanity_  with the Erikas?" he asked the question as though it were a serious life dilemma. "Unless...a young, attractive scientist changes my vocal chords?" The radio host's tone was nothing short of suggestive.

The young, attractive scientist moved his lips close to Cecil's ear. "Never," he breathed the single word and returned to kissing the man's neck and sending him back into a giggling fit.

_"It appears that Intern Vincent has finished repairing Station Management's door without any injury to his body or mind. The felines in the men's restroom have stopped making that horrible noise that twists my insides, and my coffee has been heated back to perfect temperature. Looking to be an okay evening. Nothing like the better evenings of the past decades, of course..."_

This was good.

Carlos and his boyfriend, the Voice of Night Vale, were curled up together on their pink and black striped sofa in their own living room, honey in their hair and listening to the Voice from Cecil's youth.

The decorative clock on their wall read 5:00 p.m.

The watch on Cecil's wrist said 6:53.

Soon after they would eat uncontaminated leftover pasta, and Carlos would try to assist his temporarily paralyzed boyfriend to their bed. If unsuccessful, they would sleep out on the couch, listening to loud surveillance helicopters outside, anti-wheat propaganda on TV, and a Faceless Old Woman reciting Robert Burns from the bathroom.

The following day the scientist would help his team clean up from the multiplying bees mishap, and then try to get one of those pesky vermin that hurt his love under a microscope to find its weakness. Weeks later Cecil's wonderful voice would surely be back on the radio, and it seemed their family would be helping a certain eleven-year-old girl pull off a mission.

And after that...more adventure. Carlos didn't know what adventures were ahead of them, but there were sure to be plenty. There were sure to be good days and bad days, calm days and crazy days, and days indescribable using human language. That much was a certainty.

Because Carlos lived in a town that he could best compare to a cactus that at one minute made people inexplicably cry and another minute make those same people feel on top of the world. Night Vale had that equal effect on him. It was both the brightest and darkest place he ever knew. There was so much death, and yet so much to _love_. It made him terrified, and yet he studied the most amazing science. It left him exhausted and confused at the end of each day, yet...proud of himself for surviving. He'd almost died in a bowling alley, and yet had a great time with the love of his life in that same bowling alley nearly every week.

He met the love of his life there, and it was their home.

In Night Vale he had a family; a family including a sister-in-law, an adorable niece, and a somewhat annoying brother-in-law. He was good friends with the mayor - one of the best people he knew. He had a team of five talented scientists who were as committed to science as he was, and as loyal and brave as the job of science demanded.

And he and Cecil went to bed every night together, in the apartment they _picked out_  together, and it was right where they belonged.

There would be Thanksgivings and opera nights and great times to come, all in a town that had beautiful lights above a fast food restaurant, was the most scientifically fascinating place in the world, and they had friends and family who would drop everything to come save their lives.

In a town where citizens were billed for having their nightmares erased, venomous creatures were mailed to people's doors against their will, and the only sometimes-functioning hospital frequently turned invisible, Carlos was content. On a day when Carlos was forced to fill out a disturbing amount of paperwork and fled like a coward from his boyfriend's place of work after thinking he was being preyed upon, while in Cecil's arms, Carlos had never felt so content. Carlos couldn't remember anywhere else in the universe he _could_  feel so content.

And yes, there would be things they would work hard to change and make better, some bad things that would always remain, and some positive traits of Night Vale that would forever be a constant. And it would be good.

Night Vale was home, and there was no place like home, because home was a place to be content.

Things were good. Life was good.

And Carlos wasn't going anywhere.

_"Ahh, quick report before closing out, Listeners. The giant lobsters from the Night Vale City Zoo have broken free from their cages and are now swarming the streets, smashing through doors and windows, and tearing citizens apart with their sharp and lethal claws. To those of you who sleep, keep that in mind before going to sleep for the night."_

Cecil's relaxed smile faltered and he slowly turned his head to look at Carlos who was snapped out of his pleasant thoughts by Mr. Burton's warning.

"Heh," Cecil gave a nervous laugh. "Home sweet home," he said with a shrug. Carlos tried to mimic the look and began rubbing his head in exhaustion all over again. _Yep. Home sweet home, alright..._

 _"Stay tuned next for five hours of the popular theme song to the film_ Rocky _, interspersed with poorly recorded audio of Sylvester Stallone screaming underwater._  
  
_Get well soon, Cecil Palmer! We all hope to have you back behind the microphone and on the airwaves again soon. And as always, see ya, Night Vale. See ya!"_

Carlos groaned more in physical exhaustion than annoyance as he untangled himself from Cecil's limbs. The two could already hear the tapping of claws on their door and the screams of townspeople in the streets.

The scientist's danger meter - sitting on the kitchen table where he left it - was beeping and vibrating like mad, blinking dark red, signaling the highest level of danger. Hints of fear were visibly tracing the still recovering man's face, and Carlos picked up the device with confidence.

"Don't you worry," he told his apprehensive boyfriend as the tapping and thumping grew louder and _Rocky_ 's theme song began to play.

"This danger meter is also excellent at annihilating runaway shellfish."

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. This is the longest Night Vale fanfic I've ever published, so if you've read the entire thing, thank you so much. 
> 
> It's purely a coincidence that I'm publishing a story _again_ around the winter holidays (I started writing this almost a year ago, but "real life" got in the way), and also a nice coincidence that it's being posted just in time for the upcoming 100th episode.
> 
> I first got into WTNV in late 2013. The first new episode I heard was episode 38, and here it is three years later, three fanfictions later, and it's almost the 100th. It's a great show, and while I know that my fics could never fully do it justice, I do hope everyone enjoys this in preparation and celebration for this milestone.
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and remember, comments make me happier than a dozen floating cats.
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone, and happy 100th episode to Welcome to Night Vale!


End file.
